Caiti

Mor tilted her head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Oh, I know. She drags Az around on a leash.”

You were tempted to say something about the irony in her words—remind her, in a loving manner, that she might've been guilty of that once upon a time, too. But you decided against it. She wasn't wrong.

You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid move in slow, mesmerizing circles. The feeling wasn’t new; it had been there since the first time you’d met her. Azriel’s new girlfriend Selene was perfectly fine—charming, even. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Like a faint hum in the background of a quiet room, just irritating enough to notice but not enough to prove anything was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

You glanced up, finding Mor’s bright brown eyes sharp and focused on you, the lazy humor of a moment ago gone.

“I doubt he’ll listen,” you admitted, resting the bottom of your glass on your thigh. “He didn’t listen to you.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Mor raised a brow like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed in response. “He’s been so weird about his love life. Gwyn didn’t work out. Elain’s probably the happiest out of all of us. Maybe he’s treading lightly.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though you weren’t convinced.

Azriel had changed in small, almost imperceptible ways since everything had settled—since everyone had paired off and fallen in love. Everyone except you. And him.

You were fine with your situation, content in the quiet steadiness of your life. Azriel wasn’t. You knew it. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. So much of his self-worth was tangled up in whether he believed himself worthy of love. And the absence of it—of a solid, undeniable love in his life, of a partner, of a potential bond—seemed to weigh on him. To him, it wasn’t just an empty space; it was a failure.

You’d almost go as far as to say he’d become desperate, living in the shadows and watching his brothers experience loves so profound they might as well have been plucked from stories meant to inspire poets and dreamers.

Mating bonds were rare. You reminded yourself of that often. Your family was just an anomaly, their luck skewed impossibly high. But logic wasn’t enough to soothe Azriel, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from chasing it. He was obsessive. Stubborn.

Nothing you said or did could change his perspective.

Mor’s voice pulled you out of your head again. “Speak of the devil,” she sang out. “Hi, Elain.”

Your gaze snapped up to the doorway, finding Elain standing just beyond the archway. She looked like a spooked deer, frozen in place with that polite smile you’d come to recognize as her default around company she hadn’t fully warmed up to yet.

“We were just talking about Azriel’s unfortunate romantic history,” Mor said smoothly. You glanced at Elain for her reaction.

It had taken time for that particular history to fade. Maybe it was appropriate to joke about now, but you personally would’ve waited a few more years before bringing it up so flippantly. Mor, however, had little patience for such niceties.

Elain’s expression didn’t shift beyond a faint flicker in her eyes, and you realized how much her composure had improved over the years. Then again, it had been a while since she and Lucien had found each other for good—long enough for their bond to solidify and for them to leave for the Day Court after their mating ceremony.

A twinge of jealousy sparked in you before you brushed it aside.

“We’re just gossiping in general. Want to join us?” you asked, gesturing to the chair beside you. Plush and inviting, it mirrored the one you sat on. “Unless Lucien is waiting for you upstairs?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed crimson. 

“Lucien’s still with Feyre, catching up,” she said, stepping further into the room. “What are you drinking?”

Mor reached for the bottle on the table, plucking it up and turning it in her hand to read the label.

“Something good and expensive,” she replied, with a half-hearted air of indulgence, before tilting her head at Elain with a faint grin.

“It’s from Rhys’s rather gluttonous collection,” you said, sensing Elain’s hesitation. “It won’t be missed at all.”

She smiled at that. “I’d love some.”

“There are a lot of glasses in that cabinet,” you said, pointing to the wood door with ornate carvings. “Grab whichever one you’d like.”

Mor sat up straighter, scooting herself back into the pillows behind her. You hummed, impressed, at her ability to hold both her full wine glass and the bottle without so much as a wobble.

You hadn’t spent much time with Elain one-on-one. Emissary duties had kept you busy during the years the Archeron sisters had adjusted to their new lives. But you liked Elain, from what you’d seen. She had a kind heart. She also had a sharp humor that surfaced at the oddest moments, usually when she and Lucien were whispering in corners, conspiratorial before seamlessly rejoining whatever social event they were at like they’d never left.

Elain returned and sat down with her chosen glass—a delicate crystal piece that gleamed in the soft light. Mor went to fill it instantly. 

“Can I ask why you were discussing Azriel’s romantic life?” Elain asked. Her voice was smooth, certain. No hesitation.

It didn’t faze her anymore, you realized—being such a strange, pivotal turning point in Azriel’s past experiences. She’d made peace with it, the way immortality seemed to demand. Time softened the edges of even the messiest situations, turning them into stories you could recount with startling detachment. Almost humorous, really.

Because how else could you explain being casual about the fact that your best friend had almost allowed his pride—and arrogance—and, somehow simultaneously, his insecurity—to lead him into a blood duel over Elain’s affections? A blood duel.

But now, it was just… something to write off. A distant memory, softened by the years and Lucien’s easy confidence. Lucien was better than you. You would’ve held that grudge against Azriel for many more years—long enough to make it a point of pride. But then again, Lucien had won everything he wanted in the end. He had the girl, the bond, the certainty that whatever lingering rivalry Azriel might feel was entirely one-sided.

It wasn’t important enough for Lucien to waste any more energy on.

You exchanged a glance with Mor, who arched a brow, clearly just as amused by Elain’s openness.

“Y/n doesn’t like his new girlfriend,” Mor said.

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t either.”

“True,” Mor agreed easily. She looked to Elain. “We don’t like her.”

“For clarification,” you said firmly, “I never said I didn’t like her.”

Mor laughed, sipping her wine with an amused grin.

Your face fell flat. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied breezily. “But if you get a bad feeling about someone, that’s usually dislike.”

You resisted the urge to scowl, already turning over the guilt in your mind. You didn’t want to be that person—the kind who dismissed another female off the bat. Maybe your gut was wrong this time. Maybe her smile had reached her eyes, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. Maybe her tone hadn’t been as assessing as you remembered, and you were projecting. You wanted to like her. You wanted to be happy for Azriel.

But he didn’t seem happy. He seemed distracted. Busy. Not himself.

And not the kind of busy you’d seen before—the methodical, obsessive focus he funneled into work or training. This was different, scattered in a way you couldn’t quite pin down. It had made sense in the beginning, when things were new and exciting, but now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. He’d started missing things—small things at first, like sparring sessions or those late-night conversations you, Mor, and him would have when you couldn’t sleep. Then came the bigger things. He’d stopped being able to review external court updates with you, even when those meetings were critical for your diplomatic roles.

Azriel had always been the one you could count on. Out of everyone, you considered him your closest friend—even more than Mor, though you’d never admit it out loud. But now it seemed like every time you made plans, Selene needed him more.

And then there was how fast it was all moving. Too fast. At a recent family dinner, she’d casually mentioned that she and Azriel could move in together—offhand, like it was the most obvious next step. Something about leaving the townhouse behind, creating a space with décor that matched her aesthetic. Azriel had just stayed quiet, looked at her like she’d just proposed the most brilliant idea in existence.

You noticed he did that. The way he looked at her. The way he’d looked at Elain and Gwyn back when they were seeing each other. It weirded you out—that tendency to put the people he saw as romantic interests on a pedestal, as though they were flawless. As though they were something he didn’t deserve.

You knew where it came from. That deep-rooted insecurity that even centuries hadn’t managed to erase. He didn’t see it, the way he wore himself down trying to prove his worth to people who, for the most part, had already accepted him. But you saw it. You always had.

And it made it harder to like Selene. To trust her intentions. Maybe that was unfair, but you couldn’t help but feel like she was just taking—taking all the parts of Azriel that used to be all of yours to share, and twisting them into something else. Something that didn’t include his family.

Still, you wanted to try. To let go of the gnawing irritation in your chest and convince yourself it didn’t matter. If she made him happy—truly happy—then none of it should matter. You were adamant on ensuring that you didn’t turn into the stereotypical overbearing female best friend.

Elain tapped her glass lightly. “Lucien doesn’t like her.”

You blinked back into reality. “Really?”

She nodded, a beat passing before she added, “To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.”

Mor leaned forward, grinning like she’d been handed a stack of gold. You almost wished Amren was here to bask in the moment. Amren didn’t like Azriel’s girlfriend, either. Maybe your family really was as unwelcoming as people claimed. Or maybe Selene simply brought out another level of scrutiny. The thought of either option made you feel bad— gross. 

“Why?” Mor asked.

“She was dismissive toward Lucien. And,” Elain hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, “She seemed… entitled, I suppose. Especially with Azriel. Like she expected him to accommodate her every whim.”

You frowned, turning over her words. “I’m sure she was just nervous. We can be an intimidating group. Maybe she just needs time to settle in. We just want Az to be happy, right? So, if she makes him happy, then I’m absolutely fine with her.”

The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. Something weird.

“Are you?” Elain asked, her tone sincere.

“Are you?” Mor echoed at the same time, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot Mor a glare, but she only raised her brows and sipped her wine again, infuriatingly unbothered. Exhaling, you willed yourself to meet Elain’s gaze.

“I am,” you said, trying for conviction. “Really.”

Elain pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted to Mor, lingering longer than you liked, and then back to you.

“Alright,” she hummed. “I guess I was wrong.”

You stilled. Elain reclined deeper into her seat, accepting a refill from Mor. Her wine glass remained only half-full compared to yours and Mor’s.

Curiosity burned. You leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “What do I mean about what?”

“You said you guess you were wrong. What does that mean?”

Mor’s gaze bored into the side of your face. Any second now, you were sure she’d make some quip about how bothered you were. But you weren’t bothered. Just curious.

Elain swirled her wine, watching the light catch the liquid. “I’m not sure. Things feel off. Like something’s coming. Az needs help with it, I think.”

You froze. “Off? Like—how?”

She hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “But I feel it. In my chest. My visions sometimes do that. That’s why I asked.”

Well, that unsettled you. You glanced at Mor, whose amused grin had fallen into something more contemplative.

It seemed you might need to have a conversation with Azriel after all.

“I don’t like that,” you admitted, your nose crinkling. 

“I think I heard him get back earlier. Go talk to him,” Mor said, her tone gentler now, though a hint of mischief lingered in her eyes. You didn’t read too much into that. Mor’s eyes tended to be expressive. She also tended to be mischievous when her blood was primarily red wine. 

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe just to check in.”

Elain nodded. “Just to check in,” she echoed, almost reassuring.

“Have fun,” Mor added, her grin returning just enough to be annoying, but not enough to distract you from the unease curling in your chest.

You didn’t respond, instead taking another slow sip of your drink. The glass clinked softly as you set it down on the table before you made your way upstairs.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mor turned to Elain. “Did you really feel something that unsettling?”

Elain let out a laugh. “No,” she said lightly. “I completely made that up. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Mor’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Seconds later, her head tilted back in a laugh just as vibrant as it was unapologetic.

“Genius,” she declared, raising her glass in mock salute.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The walk upstairs was quiet.

The townhome, in general, was quieter nowadays. Aside from the times others came to visit—like Lucien and Elain—only you and Azriel lived here full time.

When you reached Azriel’s bedroom door, your steps faltered for a moment. There was a hesitation in you that hadn't existed before. You raised your hand to knock, but the action felt more awkward than usual. It made you sad, momentarily, that you hesitated. You never second-guessed yourself with Azriel. You wanted to tread carefully in this new era of his life, though. You didn’t want to overstep, to become a nuisance. But whatever this was—whatever had unsettled Elain enough to mention it—you needed to know. Azriel had always been a constant for you, and if something felt “off,” you wanted to understand why.

Your knuckles rapped lightly on the door. “Az?” 

Inside, you heard the shuffle of movement, followed by his low, familiar voice. “Come in.”

You didn’t see Azriel immediately, but the smell of soap and the damp air told you that he recently showered. Shadows slithered across the floor, comfortable and excited, exploring the familiar confines of his room.

You greeted the tendrils as you usually did, letting them brush against your legs as you flopped onto his bed. The bed, like everything else in his room, was simple: plain black sheets, no extravagant pillows, just the bare necessities. It used to drive you mad, the emptiness of it all.  But what was in his room spoke volumes—— bare walls except for a dagger mount on one side, a small uncluttered desk with a well-worn sharpening stone. 

Azriel exiting the bathroom pulled your attention, your eyes settling on him as he rubbed his wet hair thoroughly with a towel. He shook his head slightly, wet curls bouncing onto his forehead, and met your gaze. His eyes flicked to where you lay, scanning your body. He nodded toward your feet.

“C’mon,” he almost whined. “No shoes on the bed.”

You looked down at yourself, grimacing as you realized that your shoes were, indeed, on his clean comforter. A simple set of house slippers, so nothing entirely too dirty, but it had completely slipped your mind. Very comfortable shoes, you noted, maybe you’d get Feyre a pair as a solstice gift.

“Oh whoops,” you said with an apologetic smile. “My bad, clean freak.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the quirk of his lips anyways.

For a moment, the old sense of comfort settled over you. But then, a thought crept in—the thought that maybe you shouldn’t lie on his bed like this anymore. It had been fine before, but now… now it felt different. He had someone else in his life. It wasn’t weird, exactly, but it was a little inappropriate.

You sat up straighter.

“Did you and Mor grow tired of rehashing the same centuries old gossip?” He teased.

You snorted, watching as his shadows flitted above his shoulders. They were amused, laughing in their own way. “Never,” you responded, pushing yourself off his bed. You were drawn to the otherside of his room, to the simple dresser against the wall. “Elain joined us this time.”

Your back was to him, but you had a feeling that the momentary silence, the stillness that you felt, was a knee-jerk reaction from Azriel—something reminiscent of embarrassment, shame, or guilt at her name. But all he responded was, “Oh?”

“I like her,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I kinda wish I spent more time with her…”

You paused, your words trailing off quietly as you took in the small details before you. 

Azriel’s dresser had always been the one surface he decorated, not because he cared for decoration, but because it was the only surface large enough to hold anything. Over the years, it had become a quiet testament to the things that mattered to him: a mix of Solstice and birthday gifts, trinkets you’d both collected on missions and trips. You liked seeing what had changed, what had been added. It gave you a glimpse into where Azriel had been, who had been with him. 

Lately, there had been more—more trinkets, more oddities that stood in stark contrast to the weapons displayed elsewhere, the ones mostly hidden away in his closet. A macaroni necklace from Nyx. A horribly made clay version of him you’d created during a drunken pottery night with Feyre, Mor, and Amren.

But now, the dresser was foreign. The once familiar surface had been wiped clean, replaced by delicate perfume bottles, jewelry that looked too fine to be his, and a candle that smelled—oddly—like the puke of a flower faerie. Some of it was new. Most of it was hers.

Azriel’s presence had vanished from his own furniture entirely.

“Huh.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “I see you’ve decorated more.”

Azriel tilted his head, and a few of his shadows slithered down his body, crossing the room to pool around your ankles. “I guess,” he said. “Selene said my room needed more life.”

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers along the ceramic jewelry dish, the cool surface sending a strange chill through your skin. The shadows flickered over your hand, almost as if they were inspecting it too. They moved with purpose, then slowly obscured it, hiding it from view.

You frowned, confused.

Azriel, still silent, was rifling through his closet. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as he moved, but he said nothing. The shadows returned to his side as you turned to look at him.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

Now, Azriel barely spared you a glance.

“Yeah. Meeting Selene,” he replied simply.

After a few seconds of silence, Azriel turned his head and properly held your gaze. “Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a casual wave of your hand, but Elain’s words echoed in your mind. You cleared your throat. “Well, actually, no. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

He frowned, standing up straighter, his wings flexing with the motion. “Is it something serious?”

You paused, carefully filtering through your words. “No, just something that’s been on my mind.”

Azriel studied you, doubt flickering in his hazel eyes. It was the kind of look that always made you feel like he was reading you too easily. He probably didn’t believe you, not entirely—but he nodded anyway. His lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Raincheck then?”

You mirrored his smile, though it felt thin. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow, once we’re back from the Hewn City.”

Azriel stilled. The way his gaze dropped to the floor and lingered felt like a guilty dog, an animal caught in an act forbidden. “Shit,” he said, his tone cautious. “I can’t go.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to settle. “Seriously? Az, Rhys is expecting an update.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. It didn’t matter. “But you can handle it on your own, you know this.” 

“Are you serious?” you said, the hurt slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t want to deal with Keir alone.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Rhys, but Selene’s been wanting to—”

“Never mind,” you cut him off, shaking your head. You forced a smile. “Have fun tonight. And tomorrow.”

Azriel scanned your face. After another moment of silence, he sighed.

“Okay, what is it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You clearly have something on your mind. Tell me.”

You hesitated, holding his gaze. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Selene.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, his tongue running across his teeth as he shook his head. “Not you too. Don’t be like this.”

Your frown deepened, offended by the immediate shift in tone. “Be like what? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He met your eyes again, his stare almost challenging. “We both know what you’re going to say.”

“Do we?”

“First Mor, then Nesta, and now you.” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “Should I be concerned that the females in my life are so quick to rally against my girlfriend?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to mirror his pose. “Well, yeah, Az. Maybe you should be.”

He rolled his eyes, the shadows at his feet flickering with the motion. “Fine. What do you want to tell me, then?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue. Azriel had always been good at looking through you, unraveling thoughts you hadn’t fully formed yet. And now, under the weight of his sharp gaze, you felt exposed.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Something flickered in his expression, quick and fleeting—too fast for you to decipher. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt unreadable, like he’d drawn a curtain between himself and you. “Really?” he asked, his tone tight, almost incredulous.

You faltered, a small thread of doubt weaving its way through your resolve. Was he happy? Would he even tell you if he wasn’t?

“Yes, really,” you replied, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “You’ve been distant lately. Running around at her beck and call. None of us know her. I want to understand what’s going on with you. I want to understand her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, his gaze hardening.

“I want to make sure this is the kind of relationship you want,” you finished, quieter now.

The room fell into silence, heavy and still. Azriel watched you as if he was turning your words over and over in his mind. You waited, unsure of what to expect—if anything at all.

“I wouldn’t be in a relationship I didn’t want. Can we drop it, please.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. What a strange, dismissive answer. It bothered you— bothered you more than anything he’d ever told you before. 

“Az, I just don’t want you to change who you are for someone. You don’t need to cater to her every whim.”

His expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I’m her boyfriend. I do what she asks.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the scoff that slipped out. Azriel had never been so clipped with you. “That’s not the definition of a boyfriend. That’s the definition of a bitch.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flaring in irritation. “Excuse me?”  His voice cut through the room. “Do you really think I’m some incompetent love-sick loser?”

“I think you stop seeing flaws in the people you love.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you’d anticipated. A small part of you wondered if “love” was the word Azriel would use to describe his feelings for her. Another part worried that he didn’t correct you.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he snapped. “I can clearly see that you’re being unfair. Quick to judge, much like Mor. That’s a flaw.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, “You know what I meant. The people you’re infatuated with—”

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” he interrupted, his shadows now beginning to curl between you like restless mediators, unsure where to settle. “Are you trying to cause issues?”

Something ran hot through your body.

“Seriously? I’m talking to you about this because I care. Because Elain had some cryptic feeling about you—”

“Elain is involved in this conversation, too?” His voice dripped with frustration now. “Gods, Y/n, should I send word for Gwyn while we’re at it? Get her opinion?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You took an authoritative step forward.  “I’ve never judged you. I’ve always tried to support you and your messy love life, no matter how complicated. Don’t you trust me, Azriel? As a friend?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows flickering uncertainly, still deciding whether to retreat or rise.

You gestured around the room. “Look at this place. You’ve erased all traces of your family—of you, of us. Where did you even put—”

“Oh, gods.” Azriel’s voice broke through, and for a moment, you thought he might crumble. His wings folded, and his hand dragged across his face, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. “She was right.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel met your gaze, his eyes hesitant for a heartbeat before turning sharp. “About you. Selene said you were jealous. That you had feelings for me.”

The words hit like a slap, and your world tilted on its axis. “What?” you asked again, your voice breaking on the word. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he had misspoken.

“I told her she was wrong. But now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, searching your face for something that maybe wasn’t even there.

“Now, what?” Your voice rose, tinged with anger. “You think I’m here because I’m jealous? Because I have some… crush on you?”

His wings flared slightly at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t know. It’s just—why else would you care so much about this?”

Your stomach twisted, a deep, cold ache settling there. “Why else?” you repeated, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because I care about you, Azriel. Because you’ve been my friend for centuries. Are you seriously confused about this?” 

For a moment, Azriel’s expression faltered, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you to care about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what friends do. But you’re standing there, letting her perception of me—someone who doesn’t even know me—warp your judgment. You’ve known me longer than that. Or at least, I thought you did. And the fact that you’d entertain this—” You stopped, shaking your head. “It’s insulting.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stood there, shadows now curling tighter around him. 

You had no idea how this conversation had gotten away from you, no idea how it turned into this—where this defensiveness, this anger, had come from. This wasn’t Azriel. Loyal, overly so. Impulsive. Protective. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe that loyalty was directed at someone else now—someone who clearly saw you as something threatening. You’d never been on the other side of Azriel before. Never thought you’d see the day. The realization hit like a slap to the face, leaving you shocked, stunned, a pit opening in your stomach that felt too deep to climb out of.

“You know what? Forget it.” You stepped back, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Really? That’s it?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Yeah,” you said, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

You turned for the door, hand on the handle, but paused. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and pointed, a petty jab that felt equal parts satisfying and hollow. “Make sure to lock this door when you leave—I’d hate to accidentally stumble back in and throw myself at you.”

Azriel stiffened, his wings snapping taut behind him. For a brief second, you thought he might say something, anything. But he didn’t.

You closed the door behind you with a heavy thud.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: no one tell them they probs have feelings for each other bc they’ll probably fight you (also elains moment is so self indulgent bc i would totally be making shit up based off my powers. like yeah actually you can’t be mean to be :/ powers are saying you’ll die if you are)

Part Two

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

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It absolutely ruined him when the accident happened. The way her body fell limp in the rubble, blood smeared across her face. For a split second, everyone thought she was dead, unable to bring her back round. Remus knelt by her, brushing the dust off of her face, trying to mop up the blood with the hem of his t-shirt. 

She was in the hospital for weeks, barely allowed to have visitors. The closest Remus got to her was through the cloudy glass that looked into her room from the corridor. He spent hours with his forehead resting against the glass, trying to get a glimpse of her to see if she was okay. The doctors seemed to keep pulling the curtains around her for privacy, promising to update him if anything happened.  

He spent days waiting outside of her room, his back stiff from sitting on the hard plastic chairs, staring at the worn linoleum floor. The bright, fluorescent lights gave him a headache. He couldn’t even bring himself to read the book that he had tucked away in the back pocket of his jeans, his mind was a mess of thoughts and he found it hard to focus. Every few hours, the lady with the tea trolley would come rattling down the corridor and she would give him a sympathetic smile as she handed him his drink.  

James and Sirius came to visit, they sat with him for hours, trying to convince to go home.  

“C’mon, mate. You need to get some proper food down you at least.” James reasoned, looking at the crumpled paper coffee cups and the empty cigarette packets that were laying at Remus’s feet.  

“What if she wakes up and I’m not here?” he answered, staring into the grey-ish cup of tea he was drinking. 

“Then they’ll call you and you can come straight back.” Sirius rubbed his shoulder comfortingly, “You’ll feel better after a decent sleep. Can’t imagine you’ve had much here.” 

Remus finally looked up, weak smile forming on his lips. He nodded – Sirius was right. He had barely slept since he’d been here. The uncomfortable surroundings and constant buzzing and beeping from the machines made it near impossible. He was exhausted. There were dark smudges under his eyes that were getting worse every day, a shadow of stubble across his jaw and his hair was a mess from him anxiously running his hands through it. 

When he stood up, it felt like every bone in his body cracked, clicking back into place. Since he got here, he had barely moved, only getting up to go to the bathroom or to get a cheap coffee from the machine. He groaned, rubbing his hip to ease the pain.  James and Sirius led him back to the car, Sirius’s hand planted firmly on his back, guiding him.  

Remus could barely get his key in the door, his hands were shaking so badly, a combination of anxiety and the lack of food and sleep. His friends had offered to come in with him, to sit with him for a while. James had even offered to go and collect some of his mum’s cooking for him to eat. Remus politely declined, not feeling up to the company. Reluctantly, his friends retreated leaving Remus alone.  

He wandered around the flat for a while, rummaging in the cupboards for something to eat, slotted two slices of bread in the toaster and flicked the kettle on. Y/N would go mad when she found out he wasn’t looking after himself properly.  

The living room felt eerily empty without his girlfriend. The ticking of the clock was driving him insane, and he switched the radio on, trying to drown it out. Eating felt near enough impossible, his mouth was dry and the bread felt like he was chewing on cardboard. His fingers reached out for his mug, taking a swig of his tea trying to dislodge it from his throat. He rubbed his hand over his face. God, he was tired. The thought of sleeping in their bed alone was unbearable, the two of them hadn’t spent a night alone since they moved in together.  

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he must have because he woke up abruptly to the sound of the landline ringing. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt disorientated. It was nighttime now, the living room was bathed in gloomy moonlight and he nearly tripped over as he rushed to the phone.  

“Hello?” His voice came out strained.  

“Hello. Can I speak to a Mr Lupin, please?” the voice asked.  

“Speaking.”  

“Ah, hello Mr Lupin. We’re just calling to let you know that Y/N has woken up. She’s still a little groggy but if you wanted to come over in the morning to see her then you can.”  

Remus felt like he could cry. It took all of his restraint to not just drive straight to the hospital now, but he knew he needed to let her rest if she had just come round. Instead, he went for a shower, finding the hot water soothing against his tired body. He ran his hands through his hair, lathering up the shampoo. For the first time since the accident, he felt like he could breathe properly again.  

The bathroom was filled with steam by the time he got out. He could barely see his reflection in the mirror as the condensation dripped down it. He winced as he saw his himself, his fingers tracing the bags under his eyes. He rummaged in the cabinet for his razor, deciding to clean himself up a little before the morning.  

That night, he decided to sleep on the sofa again, he told himself that it was just in case the hospital rang again, so he could hear the phone. Deep down, he knew that it was because he didn’t want to sleep in their bed without Y/N.  

A decent nights sleep was much needed, Remus only awoke when the morning sunlight streamed into the living room. He looked around groggily, his eyes squinting in the bright light. He wasn’t used to waking up in his own flat, the last few times that he dozed off, when he woke up it was to the fluorescent hospital lights and the doctors walking down the corridor, doing their morning rounds. 

He got dressed quickly, and gave himself a once over in the mirror before he left, running a hand through his hair, trying to tame the unruly curls.  

When he arrived at the hospital, there was a crowd of doctors and nurses that were outside of Y/N’s room. He waited anxiously for them to stop talking, nibbling on the skin of his bottom lip. 

“Mr Lupin?” one of the doctors turned around, “We’re glad you’re here-” 

“Can I go in? I need to see her.”  

“Of course. She’s having a few issues with her memory at the moment. She can’t seem to remember much from the accident but seeing a familiar face might help jog her memory.” The doctor informed him.  

Y/N looked better than he thought she would when he entered. She was propped up against some pillows, her face was patched up a bit and she had multiple wires and drips attached to her that were connected to different machines. She cocked her head when Remus walked in.  

“God, I’m so happy to see you. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Remus rushed over to her, planting a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She stayed silent for a moment, her brows knitting together.  

“I’m really sorry. Do I know you?” she pulled away from him. 

Remus stood stunned for a few seconds, at a complete loss for words. He felt like time had stood still. He hadn’t noticed that the doctor was stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand. Remus spun around when he spoke.  

“That’s normal,” the doctor began, “There tends to be memory loss in the days after someone wakes up from an accident so severe. Sometimes it takes a while for them to remember everything.” 

“What do you mean ‘a while’.” Remus stressed, “I thought you said that she couldn’t remember the accident? Not that she couldn’t remember me!”  

“She has an incredibly severe concussion. The extent of her damage is worse than we originally thought. She’s suffered a significant amount of brain trauma, which has most likely caused her to lose her memory. We’re hoping that it won’t be permanent, and her brain heals itself. But it could take days, weeks or even months.” The doctor explained carefully. 

Every trace of colour drained from his face and he felt his stomach sink. His breath caught in his throat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The doctor left the room, saying something about giving Remus time to process – he wasn’t really listening.  

Remus moved to sit by her bed, reaching to take Y/N’s hand in his but withdrawing his fingers almost immediately. Y/N just sat silently, staring at Remus he could near enough see the cogs in her brain turning, trying to work out who he was. 

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeated, “I feel like I’m supposed to know who you are but I just can’t remember.” She bit down on her lip. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Remus said, trying to remain calm. He was trying to look and sound reassuring, but tears were stinging at his eyes and he was doing his best to hold them back. 

“Something keeps coming to my mind when I look at you. It’s right on the tip of my tongue,” she looked at him earnestly, “You know when you can’t remember something but you know that you know it?” 

“I’m Remus,” he nodded, “I’m your boyfriend.” 

“My... boyfriend?” her eyes widened and she reached a hand up to her mouth, “How long? Have we been together a while?” 

“Since we were at school.” Remus confirmed, smiling sadly.  

Y/N was speechless. It was as if she was going from one emotional state to another. She looked completely lost, struggling to get her head around the idea. She looked at Remus, observing him with a newfound curiosity. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes and she swallowed hard, looking away for a moment. 

“I- I don’t remember anything.” tears were falling now, she was growing increasingly more distressed.  

“I think you should go now, Mr Lupin.” the doctor had appeared at the door again, “We need to let her rest. You can visit again tomorrow.” 

Remus stiffened as he spoke, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t agree, he didn’t want to leave her on her own. He didn’t trust himself to speak, as if the words would open the floodgates and he would lose it completely. So instead, he just reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly for a moment before he left. 

When he got home, Remus wandered aimlessly through the flat, his eyes dull and his expression sombre. He made himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the kitchen table. Sirius and James had left him messages on the answering machine, but he couldn’t muster up the effort to call them back.  

Remus just sat there, thinking over his past. Over everything they had been through together. He had known Y/N for as long as he could remember. They had met on their first day of school, forming a group with James and Sirius and had been inseparable ever since. It was when they reached their teens that Remus started seeing her in a different light. He started noticing how she would lean into him to whisper things when they were doing late night study sessions in the library. How her nose would crinkle up when she laughed, how the sun caught in her eyes when they would spend lazy afternoons by the lake.  

He had never had much in terms of affection, his childhood was pretty ropey, and he spent as much time as he could at school. Even when he grew up, girls never seemed to go with him. It was hard, when you were friends with people like James and Sirius, people who flirting and talking to people came so naturally to.  

He had never thought that someone would love him like that. The way that Y/N did. When he finally opened up to her about his feelings and she reciprocated, he felt like the happiest man in the world.  

He remembered all the times he had stayed up late studying, even though his body ached and his mind was growing less coherent by the house. He remembered the times when she would sneak off to go and make them both coffee, kissing his cheek before she left. He remembered being so damn tired the next morning but getting to spend time with her was so worth it.  

When they eventually got their flat together, he was always so excited to spend his days off with her. It was as if he never had to worry about what he would do when she was around. He could just relax. He would do little things, like leave notes in her books and whisper sweet nothings in her ear as they snuggled up on the sofa.  

The years of feeling underserving of being loved seemed so trivial now- so stupid. Y/N loved him. She loved him completely and irrevocably. Yet now, she had no idea who he was. 

His head felt heavy and sore from all the thinking, from not letting himself feel for so long. He slumped forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the table, his face buried in his hands. He hated that the accident had happened. That he had to look at her and be a stranger to her. It was like there was a knife in his gut, the blade twisting every time that Y/N said she didn’t remember him. What if she never remembered him? What if this was his one shot at love and it had been ruined? For years, Remus had had a horrible thought in the back of his mind that their relationship was purely circumstantial, that if they had met in any other scenario that she wouldn’t have fallen for him. Now, it seemed like his worst nightmare had come true.  

When he went back to the hospital the next day, he spent the walk to Y/N’s room trying to convince himself that this all was just some crazy dream, that he would walk into her room and that she would recognise him. He was devastated when she didn’t. 

“Are those for me?” she asked when he walked in, nodding towards the bunch of flowers that he was holding. 

“Yeah.” he smiled, feeling somewhat shy, “They’re your favourites.” 

“Well, I’m glad you remembered.” she joked. 

She laughed and he couldn’t help but feel his heart leap just a little. He didn’t even think that this was all new to her, that her personality might have changed. She still had her wicked sense of humour. He chuckled, but the sound felt hollow in his chest. A part of him couldn’t be completely happy, not while she still didn’t know who he was. It was bittersweet to hear her joke, it was as if nothing in the world mattered apart from the fact that she was here right now. 

“The doctor was saying I should go home soon.” she broke the silence after a few moments, “He said something about how being in familiar surroundings might help jog my memory.” 

“I think that’s a good idea.” he smiled softly, “Do you want to come home?” 

“I think so...” her voice trailed off, “I’m just worried. I mean, you say that you're my boyfriend and I believe you but I just still don’t remember anything.”  

“We can take things slowly.” he replied, “We can get to know each other again. You can get to know me...” 

It pained him to say it. His heart raced as he realised what he had just suggested. They would be starting over. He had a horrible worry in the back of his mind. What if he couldn’t make her fall for him again? 

A few days later, Remus drove her home from the hospital. They didn’t feel as uncomfortable around each other now; Remus had been at the hospital pretty much constantly for the past few days. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as the car pulled up outside of their flat, searching her face for a hint that she remembered where she was. 

He felt his heart plummet when her eyes didn’t flicker. She didn’t seem to recognise anything as they walked into the flat. She looked as if she were a stranger in this place that she called home just a few weeks ago. He led her to the sofa, sitting down next to her. Every few seconds, his eyes would wander back to her face, wanting her to notice him, to remember him. It was like he was playing tug of war in his head, part of him wanted to break down and cry, the other was telling him to stay calm. He knew he had to stay strong for her. 

“If you feel like you need space, let me know.” Remus offered, “I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable, that’s what I care about most.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking down at her hands as she wrung them together in her lap. Her hands were always a sign of her stress and anxiety – he had known that since school. 

“I put together a box a stuff. Just bits and bobs from the last few years. Y’know postcards, letters, photographs, that kind of stuff. I can go and get them if you like?” 

Y/N spent hours curled up on the sofa, sifting through the box that Remus brought her. She pored over the photographs, tracing their faces with the tip of her finger. He felt his heart throb when he saw the spark of happiness light up her eyes. It seemed like she was enjoying looking through the photographs, seeing all the good times they had in the past. He watched her, her smile was infectious, momentarily making him forget about everything that had happened. 

“You wrote me all these letters?” she asked, wafting one in his direction. 

“Yeah. I started doing it when we were at school, y’know over the summer holidays and then I started leaving them around in places for you to find. I’ve done it for years.” 

“You really loved me, huh?” she mused. 

“Love.” Remus corrected her, “I really love you.” 

“Even now?” she cocked her head to look at him, “Even though I can’t remember anything?” 

“Of course. I always will.” he met her gaze, his eyes softening, “It’s such a shame that you can’t remember everything but you get to rediscover who you are and who you were. I’m just happy that I get to be there alongside you for that.” 

“But won’t it just feel like dating a stranger? Starting afresh?” her voice grew quieter and she looked down at her hands, picking at the skin around her nails.  

“I get the pleasure of getting to know you all over again.”  

Over the next few weeks that they spent back at their flat together, Y/N’s attitude towards Remus shifted. She had started to become more comfortable around him, like she wasn’t seeing him as a stranger anymore. They would spend hours curled up on the sofa together while she asked Remus to tell her stories about their time at school. She would laugh at his jokes, playfully hitting him on the arm as she did so – something that she used to do when they were younger.  

For the first time since the accident, she started flirting with him. It was nice to see her back to the playful, flirty girl that she used to be. She would often tease Remus about their past and then take great delight when his cheeks went pink. Her touches started to linger and she had even started leaning against him when they sat together, her body brushing against his.  

He was starting to be more affectionate with her too, though he was hesitant to initiate it as he didn’t want to move things along too fast and spook her. A sudden rush of excitement would wash over him whenever she showed any signs of falling into their old patterns. He couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off of his face. 

One evening, while they were cooking together in the kitchen, something that they always used to do, he caught her staring at him. Her eyes roamed over his face, taking in every detail like she was trying to commit it to memory.  

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Remus teased.  

“Oh, shut up.” she laughed, turning away from him to stir the pot on the stove. Remus just chuckled, shaking his head and looking back to the dishes that he was drying. They stayed in comfortable silent for a while, occasionally Y/N would sing along to songs on the radio if she remembered them, though she would often get the words muddled up. 

“Hey, Moony, can you just pass me the saltshaker?” she asked, her eyes still focused on the bubbling pan.  

“What did you just call me?” The plate that he was holding nearly slipped from his fingers and he turned around so fast that his neck could have snapped. 

“M-Moony.” she repeated, though this time the word felt unfamiliar in her mouth. It had come so casually before, dripping off her tongue like honey. 

“You haven’t called me that for ages.” he said, his voice thick with disbelief, “I didn’t think you’d remember. How did you even...” his voice trailed off. 

“I don’t know.” she moved to look at him, her eyes wide, “It just slipped out. It suits you though. Moony.” 

Remus could have fallen to his knees. This was the first time that she has remembered something. Something about him. The way she said it so easily, as if nothing had happened at all. It was the first sign of hope in weeks that her memory might start to come back. Even if it didn’t Remus was enjoying getting to know her all over again.  

“God I’ve missed ya,” Simon grounds out between kisses, “so fucking much, love.” 

You’d never seen Simon this fervent, this unrestrained before. The distance had awakened something in him and it thrilled you to your core. The kiss was frantic, his large hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in as if he couldn’t believe you were actually here in front of him. And then he was lifting you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his thick frame, arms going around his neck to press him closer as he carries you across the dark room to the empty desk before setting you atop it. 

“Been waiting too fucking long for this,” Simon’s breathless between kisses, your quickened breaths matching him. “Needed you here, with me.”

Simon stands between your legs, one hand still attached to your waist, the other coming up to cup your cheek as he works your mouth open with his tongue, the kiss deepening even further. 

And then, without warning, the door flew open, light flooding the space. One of the newer recruits stood in the doorway, frozen in shock, clearly uncertain just what exactly he was walking in on. Instantly, Simon buries his face in the crook of your neck at the same time that you bring your hands up to help shield Simon’s bare face. You thank every lucky star out there that his back is to the open door as you feel every muscle in his body tense up. 

“Get. Out.” Simon growls out between gritted teeth, and a shiver races down your spine at the menacing tone, the threat clear in every syllable. 

The poor soldier looked terrified, muttering a jumbled apology before frantically slamming the door shut and taking off.  

Silence follows for the next few heartbeats. Simon’s forehead falls against your shoulder as he lets out a few heavy breaths. The intrusion had startled you both. Your hands drift from their protective shield around his face to tangle in his hair, pulling him into you.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him for interrupting us, love.” Simon’s warm breath tickles your sensitive skin and you feel a soft kiss press to your neck. 

“I might just let you,” you tease, turning to face Simon and meeting his dark eyes with your own. 

“There’s no way he saw anything,” you reassure, still feeling the tension in Simon’s body. 

A small hmph is all you got in return though as Simon straightened up and reached across the desk for his mask. You took the mask from his hands, pressing one more kiss to those beloved lips before sliding the balaclava over his head and adjusting it. And just like that, your Ghost is standing in front of you. 

“I’m thinking more drinks,” Cassian suggested, standing up and clapping his hands.

“Count me in,” Mor grinned, rising and rushing down the hall to the kitchen.

Cassian swore and chased after her, and Feyre and Rhys stood up, chasing the other two. Elain and Nesta left next, arms linked, and Amren sighed before following the group, leaving you and Azriel alone together.

Azriel cherished the moments he had alone with you. With only the two of you, it felt like all of your attention was on him, which was all he’d wanted for the past three hundred years. He wanted you, wanted every part of you. Wanted to hold you close at night and wake up with you in the morning, wanted to know what your bare skin felt like, what your lips tasted like. 

But he’d never told you that, for a varying amount of reasons. The first was you deserved better – you deserved someone better than him, someone worthy of your love. You deserved someone who could offer you the love and affection you were entitled to, someone who you would want love from. Because why would you want to be loved by Azriel? He was practically invisible – as the silent shadowsinger, people rarely paid attention to him; some barely even knew he was present.

But not you. You always seemed to know when he was around – your gaze would find him in a crowded room, and you always asked for his opinion on things. But just because you cared what he was thinking, it didn’t mean that his love was requited. 

“You’re not getting another drink?” you asked, taking a sip of your own.

Azriel simply shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll bring the whole bottle. Or maybe more.”

You laughed lightly, the sound filling Azriel with no small amount of warmth. He loved that he was the one who coerced that sound out of your lips, that he was the one who made your face brighter. He wanted to tell you that, but… how could he?

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, and you rested your head on his shoulder. Azriel’s mind screamed at him. Tell her that you love her! Tell her now, tell her now, tell her now! But it was just a friendly gesture – he was sure of it.

Maybe I could work up the courage…

But it didn’t matter, because laughter rang down the hall, and then Cassian was running through the living room with a bottle in hand, the others following close behind. The moment passed and you laughed at your friends’ antics, leaving Azriel to sigh internally. He wasn’t sure whether it was from disappointment or relief.

~ * ~

It was cold. That was the first thing Azriel registered as he looked around the nightmare. It was a stark contrast to the flames and burning of his own. The snow glistened in the moonlight, the only solace in the darkness of the freezing forest. 

The dream faded in and out, as if there was a door opening and closing between himself and the dreamscape. But he felt cold as he curled up in the snow, his wings bleeding and shredded, his wrist sprained and thigh screaming in pain. As he raised his head, he glimpsed a flash of light reflecting off of a blade. Illyrian warriors came into view, and with a jolt, Azriel realised where he was. 

Or rather, where you were. Because this nightmare… this nightmare was yours. Azriel remembered these males, remembered how he cut them down for hunting a female Illyrian for sport. He didn’t know you then — it was the first time he’d seen you. Bloody and shaking, your wings torn and broken, bone jutting out of your thigh… it was instinct that had him killing the males within seconds. Instinct that caused the roar in his head, instinct that made him need to protect you. Instinct that made him go over to you and pick you up gently, cradling you close to his body.

But in your dream, Azriel didn’t arrive. The males came closer and closer, laughing and taunting you, until they were close enough to grab your wing and snap–

Azriel awoke with a fight thrumming through his veins, the need to hurt and maim and kill screaming at him — but he was alone in his room in the House of Wind. His thundering heart slowed as he took deep breaths…

A muffled sob had his head turning sharply to the door. It was barely audible, but…

There it was again. A frantic sob, so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. He was out of bed in an instant, walking out of his room and into the hallway beyond. There was another sob from your room, and a cry of anguish. Azriel knocked, but there was no response. There was another cry of pain, and consequences be damned, Azriel opened the door.

You were twisting and turning, your scarred wings tense and tear tracks on your cheeks. You were still asleep, still stuck in that dreamscape… Azriel was at your side in a second, hesitating for only a moment before gently grabbing your shoulder.

“Y/n?” he murmured.

Another whimper. He shook your shoulder with a bit more force and you shook out of his grasp. He grabbed you again, cupping your face with one hand.

“Y/n, it’s just a dream,” he assured. 

But you still did not wake up. Azriel usually wasn’t one to panic, but seeing you in this state… It made him frantic. So he mustered as much authority as he could, and ordered, “Y/n, wake up!”

Your eyes opened and you shot out of your bed, flipping him and landing on top, a dagger pressed against his throat. Had he not been worried about you, you would be on the floor, knife discarded across the room. But he stayed still as your wings flared behind you, and as your knee pressed into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he breathed, watching you carefully. “It was a dream, Y/n.”

As if saying your name had snapped you out of a trance, you stumbled back, removing the weapon from his throat and trembling slightly. Azriel rose from the bed, surveying you carefully. Your hand still clutched your dagger, the knuckles of your hands bone white.

“I – I’m sorry,” you whispered, horror in your eyes as you glimpsed the trickle of blood running down his throat. He hadn’t even realised you’d drawn blood, and he resisted the urge to wipe it away.

“It’s okay,” he assured.

You shook your head, pressing your palms into your eyes, your breathing coming in short bursts. Once again, it was instinct that had him walking over to you and bringing you into his embrace. You readily accepted it, your arms wrapping around his middle as sobs racked through your entire body. Azriel whispered assurances into your hair, pressing feather-light kisses there as he consoled you. 

He wanted to chase away every nightmare, to hold you close and tell you how much he loved you — by the Cauldron, the words were on the tip of his tongue… but you had started to pull away. When you pulled away, he felt the loss of your warmth like a slap to the face. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trembling. The words died on his tongue – you didn’t need a love confession right now.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked, and then mentally hit himself. Of course you weren’t okay – you’d just re-lived one of the most traumatising moments of your life. The fact that he’d seen your dream… he didn’t let himself think about what that meant. Perhaps his shadows had been too curious.

“I will be,” you mumbled. You hesitated, and then added, “Thank you, for waking me up.”

Azriel understood the dismissal in your tone and dipped his head in a nod before heading to the door. Your breathing hitched as he walked away, and he paused in the doorway, his mind and heart and soul screaming at him to tell you – to tell you how he wanted to hold you through the night, how he wanted to learn every inch of you, to know all of your secrets and darkest desires…

But would you want to know his? Would you want him if you knew every despicable thing he’d done, every way he’d torn people apart? He doubted it, so he left the room, just as you wanted him to.

~ * ~

The fire crackled in Azriel’s office as he tapped his pen against his desk. He hated writing reports – it was his least favourite part of his job by far. The only thing that made it bearable was your presence. You sat in one of the plush armchairs, legs draped over the armrest and a book in your hand. 

Azriel found himself getting distracted by you, as he usually did. He just knew he could stare at you for hours on end, even if you were doing something as simple as reading. He would watch you finish the book and then start another, if only to watch the way your lips curved up as you read something humorous, or the way your eyes sparkled when the love interest finally confessed their love for the main character.

Azriel wished he could build up the courage to confess his love to you. It had only been last night that he had seen into your nightmare, and though his soul screamed a single word over and over in his mind, he chalked it up to his shadows being more invasive than they should have.

Because the word his soul cried out, the word that could change everything… it couldn’t be true. In fact, it was too good to be true. Because there was no way the Mother had promised him to you, and you him. Because Illyrian males made you jumpy and uncomfortable, always putting you on edge. How could you love a male of the race that had hunted you down for sport, intending on violating and hurting you in unforgivable ways?

Even so, you weren’t jumpy around him. Granted, he had saved you, had offered you a home in Velaris, had trained you so that you could defend yourself against even the most fearsome of warriors, but…

But nothing, he realised. You didn’t fear him, didn’t run away when you could. You’d had centuries to leave if you wanted to, but you had chosen to stay. Stay with him. He looked up at your lounging form, watching as you turned a page. You seemed at peace here with him, as if you’d never needed to look further.

I love you, I love you, I love you. He wanted to say the words aloud, wanted to say them between breathless kisses, wanted to say them as you writhed beneath him, pleasure filling every pore of both your bodies.

“Azriel.”

Azriel was brought back to reality as you spoke his name, and he realised he’d been staring at you. He refused to blush, refused to let you see how much you affected him – but you weren’t looking at him. Your book was closed, and you were looking at the ground, almost shamefully. He cocked his head in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired.

You still refused to look at him, instead fiddling with a loose thread on the armchair. You stood up and began to pace, wringing your fingers. It took a few moments, but you finally opened your mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised. “For last night.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he murmured.

You shook your head, tears forming in your eyes. “Azriel, I hurt you–”

Azriel was walking to you in an instant, standing by your side. He took your hand in his and squeezed lightly, in an attempt to offer you assurance. “Y/n, it was a natural reaction. I’m sure I would have done the same thing, had the roles been reversed.”

You looked up at him with silver lining your eyes, and before he could overthink it, he pulled you into his arms. You fit perfectly in his arms, as if the two of you had been carved to hold each other. You melted into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him, and holding him as if he was a lifeline. The way you fit just had the words at the tip of his tongue; I love you… But you didn’t need that right now. You needed comfort — you needed a friend. And so Azriel held you, withholding the words that were begging to be spoken.

~ * ~

Starfall had not yet begun, but the celebrations had. Azriel stood by the balcony, overlooking the sea of people who awaited Starfall. Azriel loved Starfall; he loved that everyone came together for it, no matter how far or long they had to travel. It was another one of the few nights that the inner circle could spend time together, letting loose and celebrating.

Not that Azriel tended to let loose. Sure, he’d have a few drinks, but he never got as wild as Cassian or Mor. They drank enough for him, and then some. 

“Hey.”

Azriel turned at the sound of your voice, opening his mouth to offer his own greeting — but nothing came out as he took in the image of you. You wore a cream coloured dress that sparkled like the stars in the sky, hugging your curves and showing off your gorgeous figure. The dress pooled at your feet, and Azriel couldn’t help but stare. Words couldn’t describe how you looked — words such as ethereal, divine, and enchanting came close, but Azriel doubted that there was a single word that could capture the extent of your beauty.

“I — hi,” Azriel got out, quickly averting his gaze, lest he never look away from you again.

You walked up beside him and rested against the railing with him. Azriel liked that you didn’t feel the need to fill the silence — he liked that you could sit with him without speaking, just taking in each other’s company.

There was just so much about you that Azriel loved, and he didn’t want to keep it a secret. He wanted to tell you, wanted you to know. Azriel hid so many parts of his life from everyone, but he wanted to share it with you, share it all with you. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, only to see you already looking at him.

I love you, I love you, I love you! Just say it, you idiot!

“Y/n,” Azriel began, turning his body to face yours.

You responded instantly, your actions mirroring his, so that the two of you were facing each other. This close to you, the sounds of the party disappeared, turning into a muted lull. All he could see, hear, or think about was you.

“Y/n, I’m–”

The sounds of cheers erupted and Azriel turned his head, spying the first star hurtling across the sky, turning and twisting in its glory. It shone bright as it crossed the vast expanse of the night sky, and hundreds more followed. Azriel turned back to you, only to find you captivated by the stars. He smiled slightly at the sight, at the pure joy in your eyes.

Maybe there would never be a good time to tell you. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to tell you. So Azriel took a deep breath, and let it go.

~ * ~

“Oh, come on, Y/n…”

Azriel watched as you sighed through your nose and shook your head. “I have to be up early tomorrow, Mor. You know I’d go if that wasn’t the case.”

Mor looked to Azriel hopefully. “Az?”

Azriel shook his head, and Mor rolled her eyes. “At least you’ve got everyone else.”

Mor sighed dramatically and threw her arms around you, squeezing tight. After a moment she let go, linking her arms with Cassian and Feyre, dragging them to Rita’s for another night of drinking, dancing, and revelling. 

Azriel watched as you sighed after them wistfully, no doubt wanting to lose yourself in the music and rhythm of the pleasure hall. But it was true – you had a mission the very next day, and you had to be gone by dawn.

“You can go with them, you know,” you say, looking at Azriel.

He turned to face you, cocking his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not going because I can’t,” you said, causing him to shake his head, but you persisted, “You never go when I can’t. You always walk me home, or stay with me.”

Azriel gulped slightly, wondering if this was it. If this was the night he would finally tell you — tell you that he never went out if you weren’t going because he didn’t want to be parted from you. If this was the night he was to tell you that he actually enjoyed it when you couldn’t go out, because it meant that the two of you could spend more time together.

“I just don’t like going out all that much,” Azriel replied, adding a slight shrug. “Besides, it’s… nicer with just you.”

Azriel refused to blush, refused to let you know how nervous just saying those simple words made him. But you looked up at him with a small smile, not knowing at all what was going on through his mind.

“Yeah, I like being with just you, too,” you admitted, looking up at him with bright eyes.

Once again, Azriel’s heart was screaming at him, screaming to tell you how much he loved you, how much he craved you and needed you, but… he couldn’t. Because although his heart was screaming at him that it must be love, that you must be his mate, his head told him that it wasn’t true. He didn’t deserve you, didn’t deserve someone as wonderful and strong as you.

So he just smiled in response, and walked you home.

~ * ~

Azriel paced around his office, spinning Truth Teller in his hands. You hadn’t come back from your mission yet, and Azriel was… well, he was panicking. He knew you’d be able to take care of yourself, but what if you’d been hurt? What if you were in the middle of nowhere, bleeding out? Thoughts and scenarios played out in Azriel’s mind, and he knew he was overthinking, knew that there had probably been some sort of hold up…

But what if it wasn’t? Azriel had no idea what to do, no idea how to find you and help you if you were dying somewhere. How would he even know if you were?

The door to his office opened to reveal Rhys. Azriel searched his High Lord’s face, praying to the Mother that you had returned safely, but Rhys’s eyes held a hint of despair.

“She’s not back?” Azriel inquired, to which Rhys shook his head.

“Can you find her?” Rhys asked. 

Azriel nodded, and winnowed to the area where your mission was supposed to occur, but he could not find a single trace of you. He was unsure if you were hiding from him, or if you were simply not there. His shadows scoured the entire place, but nothing.

Azriel took a deep breath to calm his erratically beating heart. He just needed to find you, to ensure that you were safe. He peered into himself, into his heart and soul, and felt for the bond. Even if he still wouldn’t admit it fully to himself, he knew the two of you shared a connection, a connection that transcended every other relationship Azriel shared. The bond was almost like a string of pure light, and Azriel tugged on it. He tugged softly at first, testing the waters, before pulling it blindly and sharply. After a moment, he felt a pull in return, albeit smaller and weaker than his own. But he knew where he had to go, and he allowed his shadows to winnow him to you.

He arrived and his senses were immediately filled with the scent of blood, the copperry tang causing his nose to wrinkle. He stood outside a cave in the Illyrian Mountains, a cave not too far from where he first met you on that night three-hundred and forty-seven years ago. And suddenly, Azriel knew what had happened. He smelled the tang of pain and fear in the air — your pain and fear.

With his Siphons glowing and a rage that ran deeper than the pits of Hell, Azriel entered the cave with his blades drawn. The Illyrian male beside the entrance to the cave didn’t even have time to draw his weapon before his head was tumbling from his shoulders. The other males turned at the sound of Azriel’s blade slicing through flesh, tendon, and bone, and as one, the colour drained from their faces. With his shadows swirling behind him like a sea of darkness, blood splattered across his face and chest, and eyes full of a glittering, icy rage, Azriel knew he looked like Death incarnate.

The males barely had a chance to scream before he was upon them, slicing and stabbing. Azriel only wanted to incapacitate them, wanted to take his time peeling them apart for what they had done to you, but the killing rage took over, and before he knew it, five males lay dead at his feet.

A small sob brought him back to his senses, and his head jerked up to where you were chained to the wall, bloodied and broken. He took a step forward before pausing, unsure of how to proceed. Azriel swallowed and lowered his wings in an attempt to make him appear less threatening.

“Y/n?” he tried, stepping closer.

“Azriel,” you got out.

He heard the hope in your voice and immediately stepped closer, his eyes on the chains that trapped you. He touched it and his shadows recoiled — the chains had been imbued with some sort of spell that suppressed magic. It only took his shadows a few seconds to find the keys, and he freed you from the grasp of the spelled metal.

With nothing to hold you up, you collapsed into Azriel’s arms. After a quick lookover, he judged your injuries much worse than he’d feared, and panic started to creep in.

“Hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. “You’ll be okay.”

He slipped an arm under your legs and behind your back, picking you up and holding you close to him. He could feel your heart beating faintly, as if it was his own. Your eyes had fluttered closed, and he held you tight and winnowed back to Velaris, right into Madja’s office. The older healer jumped slightly, a pen nearly falling from her fingers, but she quickly jumped into action.

“Lay her down here, Shadowsinger,” Madja commanded, gesturing to a cot.

Azriel did so, although he never physically parted with you. His hand gripped your own, and Madja knelt down, her hands glowing as she held them over your body, healing broken bones and the other various injuries you had sustained. A cup of a lavender potion was held above your mouth.

“Drink, Y/n,” Azriel ordered.

As if you would never dream of disobeying him, you did as he asked, despite your half-conscious state. Your eyes fluttered closed again.

“Talk to her,” Madja demanded as she worked. “She’s fading in and out. You need to keep her here.”

“Please, Y/n,” Azriel begged. His icy demeanour was gone, and all one could see was the warmth and love he harboured for you. “Please, Y/n. I… I need you here, darling. Don’t leave me…” Azriel took a deep breath. “I love you, Y/n, and if you stay, if you survive, I swear I’ll tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for centuries, but… it never felt like the right time. Please, Y/n…”

“Azriel,” you muttered, your hand squeezing his weakly.

“Yes, Y/n, my love,” Azriel murmured, squeezing back. “Just stay with me.”

Azriel reached inwards again, reached into his heart and soul, and tugged on the string that bound the two of you. You jerked slightly at the sensation, your eyes fluttering open. Despite how exhausted you were, despite the pain and injuries wearing you down, your eyes found Azriel’s. He saw the word in your eyes, saw the word he’d been denying to himself over and over again.

As Madja healed you, as your injuries stitched themselves back together with her magic, your eyes became clearer, more alert. They never left Azriel, and his never left you. Neither of you spoke — there were no words that could be said in that moment. When Madja finally finished, she ducked out of the room, sensing the tension between you two.

“I survived,” you said finally, your eyes searching his.

Azriel let out a small huff of laughter. “I suppose you did.” He took a deep breath. “Y/n, I love you. I love your smile, I love your determination, I love your laugh… I love everything about you. I have loved you for centuries, and I will love you for the centuries to come, if you let me.”

Silver lined your eyes as you smiled up at him. “You’ve loved me for centuries?”

Azriel nodded, “From the moment I met you.”

You took in a shuddering breath, emotions overwhelming you. Azriel felt something in his chest, felt a small tug, and he looked at you in surprise as he felt the bond. You stared at him, almost in surprise.

“This is how you found me,” you whispered.

Azriel nodded. “I will always find you.”

He couldn’t form words to describe it, anyway — had no idea how he knew it would work. There was just a feeling that he had, a need to keep you safe, just like he had when he had first found you in the snowy forest, broken and bleeding. He now knew it was the bond that had sent him over the edge, the bond that had his blood boiling and rage and death running through his veins. 

“I’ve loved you for so long, Az,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face lightly.

Azriel leaned into the touch, relishing in the contact between your bodies. He let out a shaky breath, knowing that this was it. This was the moment he had waited centuries for, the moment that he had dreamt of for so long.

“You’re my mate,” you whispered.

“And you’re mate,” Azriel echoed.

You smiled slightly, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek. Azriel’s hand reached up and cupped yours, and the warmth in your eyes nearly made him melt.

“I love you, Y/n,” Azriel murmured.

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, Azriel. And I will always find you, too.”

“What are you and Azriel doing?”

Mor’s question drew your attention from the book in your hands. You sat up on the couch, hugging your knees to your chest.

“I don’t know.”

That was the truth. You had no idea. It had been a few days since that evening with Azriel in the Hewn City. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t spoken to you since.

Mor sighed, taking a seat on the couch beside you. “I thought you said you ended things with him.”

“I—I did. But…” you trailed off, fidgeting with the spine of your book. “…I can’t stay away from him.”

“Because he’s your mate.” Mor said. A statement, not a question.

Shock was written all over your face. “How did you know that?”

“Anyone with a brain can see it. Except for Azriel, apparently.”

You looked away, finding sudden interest in Feyre’s family painting on the wall. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why?” Mor’s voice was soft, understanding.

“Because he is only interested in Elain.”

Mor went silent for several moments. “I think Azriel feels he isn’t worthy of you.”

“That’s nonsense.”

Mor snorted, twirling her golden hair around her forefinger. “Trust me, I know. But as long as I’ve known him, Azriel has always thought himself to be a bastard-born nobody, undeserving of anything good.”

Something in your soul ached at that. You knew Azriel had issues with his self-esteem, but you didn’t realize just how much it affected him.

At your silence, Mor continued, “Despite his inferiority complex, his behavior is uncalled for. He shouldn’t be stringing you along while entertaining Elain.”

“I know.”

“And you need to grow a backbone.”

You glared. “I have a backbone.”

“Not with Azriel, you don’t.”

You couldn’t argue with that, as much as you hated to admit it. Perhaps it was the bond, that made you so weak to his advances. Perhaps it was your own naïveté.

“Do you…” You swallowed thickly, the question catching in your throat. “Do you think he knows about the bond?”

“I’m not sure.”

~~~~~~~~

Later in the day, you retired to your bedroom, after spending a few hours training with Nesta and Cassian. You loosed a sigh of relief and contentment as you settled into a warm bath, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus wafting through the air.

Normally, a bath would be enough to relax you, and calm your thoughts. But Azriel weighed heavily on your mind. As did your conversation with Mor.

Half an hour passed by, filled with overthinking. Scowling, you rose from the bathtub, wrapping a towel around your form, and headed into your bedroom.

Before you could enter your closet, a knock sounded on your door. You didn’t need to hear his voice to know who it was.

“Y/n.” Azriel called from the hall. “Can I come in?”

You replaced the towel with a silk robe, and sat on the edge of your bed. “Come in.”

Azriel silently entered your room, his shadows much more active than normal. The shadows only behaved that way when he spent time with Elain—they disappeared in her presence.

Yet the shadows reveled in yours.

If the shadows weren’t hint enough as to where Azriel had been earlier in the day, Elain’s flowery scent ensnared your senses. You swallowed down bile.

The Shadowsinger cleared his throat, leaning back against the dresser that stood against the wall, a few feet away from you.

“Did you need something?” You asked him.

Azriel chuckled. “Do I need an excuse to see you?”

You fidgeted with your hands. “I have things to do, so…”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Azriel replied, taking a step forward. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal the tanned, muscular chest beneath, and the black, swirling tattoos that marked his skin. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“How kind.” You didn’t bother hiding the annoyance you felt.

“Did I do something wrong?”

You snorted. “Why are you so hot and cold with me? One moment, you’re trying to get me into your bed, and the next, you’re ignoring me for weeks at a time. Why?”

“I have other responsibilities to attend to outside of our friendship.”

You knew those ‘responsibilities’ likely included time spent with Elain. But you didn’t voice that.

Azriel continued, “You know, you can come to me, too. It doesn’t always have to be me who initiates conversation.”

“You’re never around. You don’t tell me where you are, what you’re doing.”

“As I said, I have responsibilities,” Azriel said, before sitting on the bed beside you.

“That’s a piss-poor excuse,” you muttered, not daring to look him in the eye, despite the bond urging you to do so.

Azriel scoffed. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

At that, you whipped your head towards him. “I want my friend back. I want…” You stopped yourself before the next words could leave you.

You wanted him. Wanted—needed more than friendship. You needed your mate. But instead, you repeated, “I want my friend back.”

“You have me,” Azriel said, reaching a hand to cup your face.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he swiped his thumb over your cheekbone. Damn him.

Part of you wanted to protest—to push him away. But each time he touched you, it felt as though every broken piece of you was being put back into place.

“You have me,” Azriel murmured again, brushing his lips against your forehead. He placed a soft kiss to each of your cheeks before his lips melded to your own.

Elain’s flowery scent filled your nose once again, yanking you back into reality. You abruptly broke away from the kiss, rising to your feet.

“Y-You should leave,” you sputtered out, furiously readjusting your hair, your robe.

“Do you not want to…?” Azriel let the question hang as he too, stood from your bed.

“Are you serious?” You spat the question. The casualness in his words, his actions sent you into a white-hot, blind rage. “Not when I can smell Elain all over you.”

Azriel stiffened, but didn’t respond.

You laughed, but the sound was devoid of any humor. “I don’t know what I was even thinking.”

The bond. It had to be the bond, making you forget yourself with him. He still smelled like Elain, for fuck’s sake. For that alone, you would’ve sent lesser males running.

“It always comes back to Elain,” Azriel said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Shouldn’t it? How can you—do you even understand what you’re doing to me?”

Azriel looked taken aback. He opened and closed his mouth, coming short of a reply.

You debated simply kicking Azriel out of your room, and leaving it at that. But all the emotions of the last several weeks came bubbling to the surface, threatening to spill over. So you let the words fly out, consequences he damned.

“You are hurting me, Azriel. You—each time you come to me, only to turn around and go to Elain? That fucking hurts. It’s confusing, and I don’t deserve it.”

You loosed a breath, continuing, “I don’t know what you do with her. I don’t know what you feel for her. I don’t care anymore. Just leave me out of it, because it’s hurting me.”

You braced yourself. Braced yourself for a screaming match; an argument. Part of you thought that maybe he’d even laugh at you.

Instead, Azriel merely walked out of your room in silence.

That was far worse.

~~~~~~~~

“What’s got Azriel so pissed off?” Cassian asked you from where he stood on the balcony, nursing a mug of coffee.

“Y/n put him in his place last night,” Nesta interjected, her voice lined with amusement. “Poor Illyrian baby couldn’t take it.”

Cassian grinned. “Rhysie will have a field day when he hears about this.”

You rolled your eyes, staring down at the glass of water in your hands. “Yes, laugh at my turmoil,” you muttered sarcastically.

Nesta and Cassian shared a laugh at that, before the former patted your back comfortingly. “Don’t worry. We’ll go to Rita’s tonight and make you forget all about it.”

~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately, Nesta’s idea of “making you forget all about it” included her running off with Cassian into the bathroom after an entire thirty minutes at Rita’s, leaving you alone at your booth, stone-cold sober and mildly annoyed.

After another ten minutes of sitting alone like an outcast, you were prepared to call it quits.

That was, until Eris Vanserra slid into the seat across from you, two mixed drinks in hand.

“Y/n,” he greeted with a smirk, sliding you one of the drinks. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” you muttered as you took a large swig from your glass.

Eris chuckled, amusement lining his expression. “Always the charmer. How’ve you been?”

“I’m fine. What are you doing in Velaris?”

“Tsk. Not even going to ask how I’m doing?”

You stared.

Eris sighed dramatically, though you noticed his lips twitching up in a smile. “Alright. I’m here for a few days. Just visiting.”

“I highly doubt you’re ‘just visiting.’”

“Believe what you want.” Eris mused, leaning forward, resting his chin on his hands. He studied you for a moment, before adding, “You seemed a bit lonely. No males around to warm your bed?”

You took another gulp of your drink. “My bed is of no concern to you.”

Eris grinned, undeterred by your disinterest. “Come on. Loosen up. Play with me.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol kicking in a bit sooner than normal. Or perhaps it was your determination to get Azriel off of your mind. You didn’t particularly care to find out as you replied, “What do I get if I do?”

Eris’s grin became feline. “Whatever you want.”

~~~~~~~~

The first thing that greeted you when you awoke the next morning was a pounding headache. You were never drinking again.

Your grogginess quickly eddied into panic as you realized Eris was sleeping beside you. If you pulled away the blanket that covered the lower half of his form, you were almost certain he’d be—

“It’s not polite to stare,” Eris murmured tiredly, his abs rippling as he sat up in bed, the blanket that previously covered his form sliding away.

You quickly averted your gaze, and rose from the bed, throwing on the nearest piece of clothing.

“My shirt looks lovely on you,” Eris mused, still lounging on your bed as though he owned it.

Your cheeks flushed. You cleared you throat, attempting to find any amount of dignity within yourself as you said, “You should probably leave.”

Eris chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t overstay my welcome.” He stood from the bed, and dressed himself. You prepared to return his shirt, but he halted you. “It looks better on you. Keep it.”

You cursed yourself as your cheeks flushed an even deeper color.

“I have to return home this afternoon,” Eris explained as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “But if you ever want a repeat of last night…”

You gave him a pointed look. “Eris, as much as I enjoyed—“

“Oh, I know you enjoyed it. Multiple times. You were quite vocal in showing it.”

“As much as I enjoyed it,” you began again with slight annoyance, “I think it best that we don’t do this again.”

Eris shrugged, unfazed. “That’s fine. You were a lot of fun,” he replied as he prepared to leave your room. “For what it’s worth, though, you are…nice to be around.”

You supposed that was the closest you were getting to a compliment from him.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Eris left before you could.

~~~~~~~~

The coffee you drank was a welcome remedy for your headache. Tiredness still gnawed at you from where you sat at the dining table, allowing your thoughts to wander.

You didn’t particularly regret last night. Eris was…fun. A distraction, even. Perhaps you’d take him up on his offer, in the future.

“Next time you bring a male over, at least have the decency to sneak him out,” Azriel said from behind you, his face frozen with rage.

You laughed. Laughed, to your own surprise. “I dealt with centuries of you, Mor, and Cassian bringing people home. Cope.”

The finality in your tone seemed to piss Azriel off even more. “You even smell like him, for Cauldron’s sake.”

It was then that you realized you still wore Eris’s shirt. Again, you didn’t particularly care. “Good,” you spat out as you stood from your chair. “Maybe now you’ll know how I feel when you smell like Elain.”

“Did you fuck him?”

You weren’t sure why he asked. He already knew the answer.

“What does it matter?”

“Did you?”

“Did you fuck Elain?”

Azriel went silent.

“Allow me to make one thing clear, Azriel,” you started, taking a step closer to him. “I am not yours. You are not mine. What I do, with anyone, is none of your business. Just as what you do, is no concern of mine.”

You ignored the way the bond hammered against your chest in protest. The way you could feel his hurt surging through you like a tidal wave. Good. Let him feel what you’ve felt for months, now.

Azriel didn’t respond. Typical.

You started to leave, but Azriel’s next words had your breath catching short in your lungs.

“I know about the bond.”

You weren’t breathing. It felt as though the floor had been swept out from under you.

You turned back around, facing him. “What?”

“I’ve known for almost a year.”

A year. He’s known longer than you have.

You couldn’t bring yourself to form a proper response—you could hardly think over the roaring in your head.“Then why would you—Elain—what?”

Azriel took a step forward, to which you immediately stepped back.

Azriel began, “There is no excuse—“

“You’re right,” you sneered, “there is no excuse.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Save it.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed. He reached out a hand, as if to caress your face. “Y/n—“

“Do not presume to touch me. Ever again.”

You hurried out of the dining room before you could further register the anguish on Azriel’s face.

The bond made you feel it all, anyway.

~~~~~~~~

The House of Wind was quiet at this hour, save for the thunder cracking outside, coupled with heavy rain pelting the windows.

You stood at the marbled kitchen counter, filling your glass of wine for a third time. You grimaced slightly as the wine coated your tongue, dry and bitter. Not your favorite, but it’ll get the job done—getting drunk, that is.

Just as you sat your glass down, footsteps sounded behind you. Not heavy like Cassian’s. Not light like Mor’s. No, these footsteps were almost inaudible. But you would recognize the sound from anywhere. The same way you recognized the cool air of his shadows before they came into view, before they slithered along your arms, toyed with your hair.

Azriel.

His strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. Leaning into his touch was instinctual; a reflex.

You cursed yourself for it. Hated yourself for it.

“You didn’t come to my room tonight,” the Shadowsinger spoke against your skin, his voice warming you, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You didn’t answer at first. Any response you had previously thought out caught in your throat, and you swallowed the words down before you could embarrass yourself with them.

What were you to tell him?

In the last few months, you’d agreed to share his bed. You’d go to one another when you needed release, and leave when all was said and done. Nothing further. No strings attached. Your centuries of friendship would remain intact.

So, when he’d begun showing interest in Elain, you kept your mouth shut. His moments with her didn’t go beyond polite, friendly conversation, but you could see the way his eyes lit up each time he spoke to her. He liked her very much. Loved her, perhaps.

You were foolish to believe it would be anything more than sex. Your feelings for Azriel were only magnified each time you went to him. Like some lovesick puppy, desperate for any affection that he would give you.

No strings attached, you’d remind yourself after each encounter. Azriel’s first rule.

The only other rule? Be completely honest with one another. If either of you wanted to stop? Say it. If either of you wanted to see someone else? Say it.

You’d broken both rules.

Azriel pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, jolting you from your thoughts. “I can feel the gears turning in your head. Talk to me.”

You swallowed thickly. Once. Twice. “I was too tired tonight.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Azriel replied, turning you to face him. He gently grabbed your chin, tilting your head back until your eyes met his. “I know you. I know when something is bothering you. Talk to me.”

Despite how much you wanted to, you couldn’t break his stare. Did he even know? The things you would do for him? The love you bore for him?

No. He didn’t know. That would be cruel—to string you along and use you for your body, knowing you wanted more than that.

Finally, you loosed a breath, repeating your previous lie, as easily as breathing. “I was tired, Az.”

Azriel silently studied you for a moment, as though he was dissecting you, trying to pick out the pieces within that might hold the truth. The hand he had on your chin moved to the side of your neck, his thumb tracing the column of your throat. You knew he felt your breath hitch.

You prayed to the Mother that he would stop touching you like that. It wasn’t fair—this hold he had over you. How easily he could make you weak. Make you vulnerable.

His grip on your neck tightened ever-so slightly, and you couldn’t halt the breathy whimper that fell from your lips. “Azriel…”

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against yours.

The sheer need in his voice made your spine tingle. “Azriel,” his name was almost a whisper; a plea. You arched into him as his free hand found your breasts, tracing around your nipples with his thumb until they formed into stiff peaks.

Azriel’s lips trailed down your neck, your chest. He lowered himself, kissing down your stomach over the thin nightgown you wore as he sunk to his knees before you. He peppered kisses along your exposed thighs, a low growl creeping up his throat as you instinctively parted your legs for him. You were almost too far gone to speak—to think, even. But the moment his hands touched the hem of your nightgown, you tensed.

Azriel noticed immediately, and rose to his feet, worry painting his face. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Your heart warmed at the concern he displayed for you, but you shut the feeling out as quickly as it came. It was all too confusing—the way he acted with you, only to turn around and go to Elain.

But you and Azriel agreed months ago: just sex, without any attachment.

“I think we should stop. All of this,” you admitted, unable to meet his eyes.

Azriel blinked. “Oh. Was it…” he cleared his throat, taking a step back. “Was it something I did?”

Yes. No. Both. You sighed. “No. I just—I don’t want to do this anymore.”

A half-lie.

Azriel nodded, his expression now unreadable. “Alright.”

Now it was your turn to show surprise. “Is that—that’s it?” The question came out a bit sharper than intended.

“You don’t owe me an explanation. If you want to stop, we stop. No strings attached.”

“Right. No strings attached.” You forced a smile, and Azriel returned it, though it seemed just as fake as yours.

A sudden awkwardness filled the air—something you’d never felt in Azriel’s presence. To your relief, Azriel spoke again.

“I guess I should—I’ll see you in the morning.” Azriel turned away, but stopped just before exiting the kitchen. “You’re still my friend, y/n. Always.”

Friend. Friend. Friend. Just friends.

You couldn’t bring yourself to smile, this time. “Always, Az.”

As he walked down the hall, you wondered if the Cauldron was playing a cruel joke on you.

You stared at the gold invitation, cursive writing announcing Cresseida to be wed in a months time. And there was your name printed, Y/N and partners. You had scoffed when you first saw it – maybe in another life.

You were chewing your lip, lost in thought on whether to attend or not. You knew at the least, Rhys and Feyre would attend the wedding – that meant seeing them. And word would surely spread of your work at Spring Court once you got to chatting to other guests – that would reveal your location. 

“Whats bothering you, young spark?” Finbark asked from the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables as a pot of stew boiled behind him. He looked up briefly, spotting the invitation in your hand. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of not attending?” 

“I don't want to risk what I have here.”

“Y/N, everything you’ve worked for is already yours. Your home here, your work, even your privacy, no one can take that away from you now, not even a High Lord or Lady.”

“I know, you’re right. It’s just… I've so enjoyed my little bubble away from everything that happened. Seeing them… they made me feel so small Fin, so helpless. I don't know if I can stand going through that again.”

“So much has happened since then. Look at all you’ve done, all you’ve accomplished. Thousands of fae, gods, even the entire damn court is mending thanks to you. You were never small, and you have proven that to yourself over and over again.”

A wobbly smile jerked at your lips, tears pricking in your eyes. He wiped his hands, leaving the vegetables to come cup your face, brushing away your tears.

“You cannot lock yourself in Spring Court forever, sweetheart. Don't punish yourself for their mistakes, expand your horizons, celebrate with friends that are equally yours as they are theirs. And celebrate yourself, you deserve that even more.”

You reached for your uncle’s rippled hand, holding it tight. “Thank you, Finbark. You mean the world to me.”

“And you me, young spark.” 

So it was decided. You would attend the wedding, without any partners.

————

“Where are we going?” you called from Podie, Tamlin a few paces ahead on his own horse. He was leading you through a trail you weren't familiar with.

“For the umpteenth time Y/N, it’s a surprise.” He called back without turning his head. 

You let out an audible sigh, to which Tamlin chuckled. You did your best not to admire his ass as he straddled a horse – it helped neither of you how handsome Tamlin looked in his riding clothes. You pressed your heels to Podie, coming to trot beside him.

“You should know I hate surprises,” you sang.

“Even the good kind? What a shame,” Tamlin responded, clearly not letting up on where he was taking you. You poked your tongue out, earning another chuckle.

It had been several months since your first dinner with Tamlin, and you had fallen into a comfortable pattern with the High Lord. You enjoyed a regular drink or meal together when your work crossed paths, and he had even consulted you on advice for his court, which flattered you. His company was a consistent pleasure, and you treasured the friendship you had formed – the Gods knew you needed it.

You managed to bite your tongue for another twenty minutes, and just as you were about to pester him again, Tamlin spoke. “It’s just up this trail.”

Pulling the reins of his horse, Tamlin led you down a steep path, hidden much by overhanging trees and bushes, only to reveal a clearing.

No, not a clearing – a field, blossoming with rows of carefully planted pink flowers. And as you got closer, the size of the field was revealed, bordered by a low wooden fence. It was… a farm?

You drew in an audible breath as the scent of the flowers hit you. You widened your eyes at Tamlin, who was grinning at your shock. You dismounted Podie quickly, rushing to brace the fence as you took in the site with awe. 

“Wild Gernaium?” you choked, your eyes still wide. 

“The healing flower,” Tamlin nodded. “It took a while to learn how to farm them, months in fact, but Spring has Prythians best botanists.”

“And here I thought they could only grow in the wild,” you shook your head with disbelief. “Tamlin, these are so rare, how on earth you were able to farm this many?”

“Spring Court is a land that gives back, the soil here is rich of nutrients and the weather forgiving. It is of course only something we were able to do, thanks to your mission work to help recover the land. This is your accomplishment as much as it is theirs.”

Tears pricked in your eyes then. The amount of fae that could be helped with this crop – it was an overwhelming thought. 

“And they are for you, of course.”

You gaped at the High Lord, who laughed again. 

“For me?”

“Of course, for your work. Whatever you need – farmers to pick the flowers, a factory full of workers to grind and bottle the pigment – say the word and it’s yours.”

“Tamlin, I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Please, don’t. It’s not a thanks I deserve, I’m just… trying to look out for my people. Just as you do.”

“Well… you’ve done a Gods damned good job,” you said with raised brows, blowing out a loose breath at the extend of the farm. 

Tamlin threw his head back and laughed, and you grinned at his happiness. You reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Nice work, High Lord.”

Tamlin squeezed your hand back. “It wouldn't be without you.”

He pulled on your hand then, leading you through the flowers as you admired the plants up close. He explained that a factory could be built at the farms edge, attached with a pressing mill and grinders. Your heart fluttered with excitement, your work could extend past manual labour, you could now offer medicine and healing. There was a force brewing inside you, something unstoppable and good, something that lay dormant for centuries, finally unleashed and free.

You still held Tamlin’s hand as he lead you through the field, making your way to a lush hill that overlooked the farm. You sat together, Tamlin listening contently as you excitedly spoke through your ideas on how to harvest the medicine, noting that your small growing team of mission workers could also help to distribute throughout the court.

“How many aid workers have you recruited now?” Tamlin asked. 

“Seven, and we’re currently inducting Nyvya in the east. She’s a trained healer, so will be delighted to hear of the Gernaium.”

“That’s wonderful,” he smiled. 

“It is,” you said warmly, and it occurred to you that you owed Tamlin a truth. An idea you were planning to run by him at a much later time. But with the offer of the Gernaium, the access to this kind of healing, that changed things. “It is,” you repeated almost flatly, chewing at your lip as your eyes fell distant, dancing with thought.

Tamlin caught the movement, and he frowned slightly as he shifted from his lounging position. “What is it?”

Your heart rose in anticipation – you felt sheepish. So you stared at him, deciding on whether it was in fact the right time.

“You can say it – whatever it is,” he said gently, taking your hand. Your silence lead him to start guessing. “Are you leaving Spring?”

“No, no I–”

“Because you are free to come and go as you please. I know my past behaviour speaks for itself, but I would hate to think that you feel trapped or–”

You grabbed his shoulders then, squeezing the muscle underneath. “Tamlin, gods I know that.”

The action seemed to stun him, and his lips pressed into a thin line. You felt a slight twang of guilt for drawing out such a distinct shame in him. 

You took a deep breath, pulling your hands to your lap. “With the mission work expanding, along with my team, we have been able to help fae at the borders, some from Summer, even a few from Autumn.”

Tamlin nodded assuringly, a sign for you to continue. He didn't startle over the technicality of Spring members helping foreign fae – that was a good sign. 

“And it felt good to help them Tam, they were isolated, and just as vulnerable as some of those in Spring.”

“Of course,” he said softly.

You had to take a deep breath, and your eyes found the horizon beyond the rolling hills around you. 

“You know,” you spoke softly. “My ambitions to help and protect others, it has always existed beyond court borders.”

You could see Tamlin shift, before giving a slow nod. 

“After talking with my team, we believe our mission work could gain traction in other courts, should they be willing. We could share knowledge, resources too if it was agreed, and provide aid across Prythian without being conformed to borders.”

You forced your eyes to Tamlin then, grimacing at what you might find written on his face. But it was just as neutral, his eyes soft, his jaw chiselled and handsome and – damn him.

“This is not the way I wanted to propose this to you Tamlin, please know. Especially after your generosity with the Gernaium, I understand completely if you have grown them purely to aid your own subjects. But that doesn't stop the need for mission work across Prythian. I plan to gain the support from as many High Lords and Ladies as possible, and I would be honoured if that started with you.”

Tamlin eyed you with those sharp green eyes, the kind of look that made you shift under the weight of it. And after an insufferable silence, he spoke. 

“You are incredible.”

You blinked in shock, Tamlin’s lips pulling at your reaction. 

“Truly,” he smiled, grabbing your hand to kiss it. “I have never met anyone who was to see a need as great as this, and think to grow it beyond borders. Magic anchors a High Lord or Lady to their Court, it makes us territorial and protective, violent even. But you, this,” he said waving his hand to you, before sighing, contemplating how to say what he felt in words. “You are what this world needs.”

Your eyes welled before two fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “Tamlin,” you chocked, unable to think of anything else to say.

He shifted closer, brushing the tears away with his thumb as he cupped your face. “You have my support Y/N. Thank you for teaching me to be better.”

Emotion surged through you, as if flushing you from years of doubt and hate, replaced now with inspiration, kindness and good, honest love. And then your lips were on his. 

Taken aback, Tamlin caught himself on one strong arm as you held his face and kissed him. You pulled away, worried to have overstepped your boundaries. But then a strong hand laced around your waist, his other propping himself up as he leaned in, closing his mouth over yours, a sharp breath drawn as his nose brushed against your. Friendship, understanding, a blossoming love – how quickly Tamlin had welcomed you to a world capable of healing, of growth. 

Every fibre in your limbs begged to be closer to him, to bask in the vulnerability he had shown you, and you him. In only half a year, you had grown together, healed together, and learned to love one another. You did, you loved him, for whatever he was to you – a dear friend, a High Lord, it didn't matter. It was equal, and genuine, and you craved it in every way. 

Fuelled in by dizzy passion, you quickly straddled his lap, pulling at his broad shoulders to bring him further into you, letting him encompass your senses. 

Tamlin’s own hands slid across your back, moving up to your neck, gripping at the roots of your hair, the other grasped at the flesh where your thighs met your hips. 

He seemed to realise where this was heading, pulling away with a sharp breath through his nose. “Y/N–”

You shook your head, dismissing him immediately with another kiss, your tongue begging for entrance to his mouth. “Tamlin.” His name was a plea.

“Are you cer–?”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish his question, peppering kissed in between words. “I’ve–never–been–more–certain.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, and goosebumps pricked at your skin as you felt it vibrate through to you. Your excitement peaked, it had been so long since you had shared yourself with another, and your core fluttered with anticipation as every fragment of you seemed to chant yes, yes, yes. 

Which is exactly what you moaned as Tamlin entered you, your skirts pulled high, his riding pants pulled low. You placed a flat palm on his chest, your eyes clenched shut as you stretched around his girth, your walls already throbbing as you slowly slid down. Tamlin let out a stifled growl, one laced with satisfaction and a lot of restraint. 

Strong arms hugged you then, and you began to writhe together, moving gently and sensually as you ground against each other. Chasing release was far beyond you, there was so much pleasure to be had in sharing your bodies, relishing in the trust you both had found in one another.

Tamlin did his best to keep a leash if his instincts, his beast form begging to be released and he grunted and growled when you moved your hips in a certain way, nipping at your neck and ear as claws now ran down your back. You ran your fingers through his hair, using it to guide his face to yours as you kissed him and fucked him how you pleased. His own hands moved to grip at your ass to do the same. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, his deep voice breaking, strained with pleasure. 

“Tamlin, gods, you feel–”

“So. Good,” he gritted, finishing your sentence. You leaned back, head thrown back as your hands found balance on his thighs as you rode him in the warm spring air. 

Pleasure found both of you again and again in that afternoon. You climaxed on his lap, and not twenty minutes later he was pushing into you again, your bare thighs spread on the lush green grass as he moved above you. You clung together, a writhing, sweaty mix of passion and pleasure until the sun began to set over the rolling hills. 

Tamlin reached for you, his fingers lacing with yours as you ate the last of the berries he had packed. He kissed your forehead before turning you to rest against his chest, not wanting you to miss the view. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured into your hair. 

Stroking his arms that were tightly wrapped at your waist, you swallowed, debating on what to say. But no, Tamlin deserved the truth, you must always choose truth. You sighed , saddened by what was churning through your head after such incredible sex.

“I’m thinking we need to discuss what this afternoon means.” 

You loved him, you did, but Tamlin was bound to his court, and your life called beyond it. It wouldn't work, no matter how much you cared for each other.

Tamlin knew this too. “What if,” he spoke softly, brushing your hair away from your neck so he could place a gentle kiss on it. “What if we enjoy this moment for what it is, just for today.”

You smiled, kissing his hands. “Tomorrow then.”

“Plenty of problems await,” he joked, and you laughed before settling further into him. You smiled cockily as you felt him harden against you. Tomorrow indeed.

————

One month later

Peering from the carriage window, your heart thundered in your ears, drowning out the clap of horses hooves as guests arrived at the summer estate, music floating gently from within.

Dawned in all colours, you watched guests gasp in awe at the beauty of the building. This was one of many of Tarquin’s estates - one you had never visited. It was an open, grecian style home, golden columns holding the impressive entrance carved with shimmering vines. Fae flocked in groups, sparkling wine already in their hands as they made their way to the gardens, no doubt where the service was being held. 

“Are you alright?” Tamlin asked, the velvet of his deep green suit brushing against your bare arm. 

“Uneasy to say the least,” you said thickly, your tongue stiff with nerves. “And you?”

Tamlin looked beyond the window, eyeing each of the guests. “One step at a time,” was his response as he squeezed your knee. 

————

The curtesy wine offered to you at the entrance was gone within the first few moments of arriving. You wouldn't make a fool of yourself here, but a little wine to take the edge off couldn't hurt. 

Tarquin stood proudly, wearing a fine turquoise suit detailed with gold thread, shaking hands as he welcomed guests. 

“Y/N,” he beamed, taking your hands and kissing each of your cheeks. “I’m honoured you came.”

“The pleasure is mine, Tarquin. Thank you for having me.”

“Nonsense, both Creseida and I might have forced you here if you had not come willingly.”

You laughed freely. “How is she?”

“A wreck of nerves,” he chuckled. 

“I’m sure she looks beautiful,” you laughed lightly back. 

“She does, just as you do,” he winked, raising your hands he still held to take in your dress. A silken, soft blue dress fell of your body, its back open as material gathered just before your rear. The dressmaker had done an incredible job, fitting style and colour alike. You had politely declined her suggestions of a sage green, a Spring Court signature. It was kind, but you were courtless for over a year now, and proud of it. Instead, you had asked for sky blue – as no one ruled the skies. 

Blushing, you let out another soft laugh. “You are too kind, High Lord.”

Tarquins eyes flashed behind you, catching Tamlin as he spoke with some familiars a few paces away. “Have you…?” he questioned, trailing off.

You smiled knowingly. “I’ve come alone. Tamlin and I shared a carriage, journeying from the same court. You remember of my work there?”

“Remember? Sweetheart, there is talk of your mission throughout my court. There are guests here who are very keen to meet you. And we will need to formally discuss your work, and give a proper thanks to the aid you have provided at the border.”

You were smiling wide now, shaking your head with gratitude. “I would like that too, but perhaps not here.”

Tarquin grinned. “No, perhaps not. Welcome, sweet Y/N, please enjoy the festivities, and accomodation.”

You smiled politely as Tamlin approached, exchanging a firm handshake before raising his brows at you. “Shall we head in?”

Nodding tightly, you let Tamlin guide you with a hand at the small of your back. At the very least, the warmth of his skin against yours was a small comfort. 

The estate was even more impressive the further you ventured, white marble and golden staircases twisting this way and that, leading to corridors of rooms, each door carved to perfection. These were the guest accomodations, and included your own for the evening. 

But the jewel of the home was its view, where a perfectly groomed garden now catered to almost a thousand fae, overlooking the crystal blue Adriatic, the waves beneath crashing the cliff quieted by the string quartet. It was an overwhelming beautiful home, and you were glad to be lost in a sea of guests. 

 A golden arch was set at the end of a the aisle, a High Priestess exchanging words with a groom you did not recognise. But you smiled – you were happy for Creseida. 

“An impressive turnout,” Tamlin muttered, sipping his wine as his green eyes turned sharp, scanning the crowd. You ignored the glances being cast your way, whether it was from your attendance with Tamlin, or Tamlin’s presence alone, you didn't care. What did these fools know of either of your stories to judge.

And you tried not to look, to not let your heart beat fast as you scoured for a rare set of wings amongst the finery of the wedding, telling yourself you wouldn’t turn your heel and run at the site of any siphons or shadows or night. But you were thankful to not find any. 

That was, until you felt them. Muscles jerking, goosebumps pricked your skin as your power began to tingle sharply, spreading across your body like a rash. Shit – you hadn't anticipated to lose your lid in such a way, your power had been so forgiving this past year. 

A small gap parted in the crowd of guests at the stairs of the estate, and the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court were revealed. Arms loop, night curling around them in the fashion that impressed and threatened all at once. Rhysand shook hands with a nearby male, Feyre kissing the cheeks of a curtsying female. 

It shocked you, how quickly your spy instincts found you. As if in one of your many life-threatening missions, your senses narrowed, the noise in your brain focusing to immediate details – taking in only what you needed to survive, just as Azriel and Cassian had trained you. Your vision barrelled to the couple who still greeted others some distance away. Scanning behind them, you anticipated the remainder of your old family, and of course, your exes. 

Yet no one followed. Not even Mor. It seemed the High Lord and Lady had attended alone. It was strange – had things turned bad at the Court, that even the Morrigan had forgone a wedding?

Rhysand wore a handsome smile as he guided Feyre down the stairs to the garden, guests parting even further, bowing as they strode through. They were getting closer, and you ignored the clench of your heart as their scent filled your nose, before mixing with others. It was the smell of home.

No. it wasn't home. Not anymore, and not for a good while now. You hated that instinct, to curl into it, to let it welcome you, claiming you still. 

You glanced behind, conscious that they would find you standing with Tamlin. But he was no where to be seen, and you thanked him silently for the courtesy of having stepped away.

Rhysand and Feyre glided closer and closer, exchanging nods and accepting bows. And then they halted, violet eyes scanning before locking to yours, grey eyes shortly followed. And Rhys’s smile, the one that he used in the face of the public, it softened, his eyebrows twitching upwards almost unnoticeably. 

Feyre’s hand gripping at his arm tighter, and you could hear her heart fasten from where you stood. You almost resented how in-tune you were to them, these micro-behaviours. 

Glancing between them both, you followed the order of those next to you, lowering yourself to a polite curtsy. 

They couldn't reach you, not without drawing attention, not without the watchful eyes of hundreds of guests. So with a nod from Rhys, and a soft smile from Feyre, they continued on, finding their seats in the queues. 

————

Cresseida was the most beautiful bride you had ever seen. Golden vines were cuffed along her arms, as a silk gown as white as her hair trailed behind her as she walked the aisle, Tarquin proudly at her side. 

You smiled through your tears as she was married. You were happy for her– you were happy –you were… An unmarketable emotion filled you as you couldn’t help the run of tears that continued to pour, even after the ceremony ended. 

————

“And is it true that you were able to help the children at the border?” questioned one of Tarquin’s emissaries as she leaned in, raising her voice over the music. 

The party was in full swing, food had been served and hundreds of fae drank and danced, celebrating Creseida’s courtship, each of them eager to get even a glimpse at the bride and groom. 

“Yes, we were lucky to have an experienced healer join the mission, and she was already aiding some of the fae in Spring.”

The female smiled, and squeezed your arm. “On behalf of my court, we are grateful.”

“Not at all,” you smiled back. “Your authorities were notified, and from what I heard your own healers were already on their way. We were simply closer to that area, and had supplies to spare.”

It had been hours, and your company was still in high demand as endless Summer Court members were eager to meet you. Tarquin, it seemed, had been spreading you just as much praise as Tamlin. You had danced with many, exchanging jokes and stories, enjoying the festivities with some familiar faces and many new ones. 

It was a struggle to keep your eyes from averting, your instinct to find Rhys and Feyre in the crowd was loud and stubborn. Old habits, you supposed. 

Tamlin approached you then, having made himself scarce from your company for most of the evening, something you both had agreed to do. But you were comforted by his presence as he easily slid into the conversation, slipping a glass of fae wine into your hand without even asking. You smiled, giving his shoulder a thankful squeeze. 

There was an itchy, uneasy feeling that tugged at you, and you knew you were under watchful eyes. You found them, surrounded by their own acquaintances, and while Rhys masked his curiosity perfectly, Feyre’s stare bored into you from across the dance floor. 

Taking a large sip of wine, you let it warm you as you squared your shoulders. You would not cower, you would not shy away. And now was a better time than any.

So you strode directly to them, Feyre’s stare softening as Rhys pardoned himself from his conversation. Then, they were walking towards you to. 

You stopped a few paces shy from each other. Staring. It was…. awkward. 

But then Rhysand smiled. Warm and genuine and familiar. You hoped he didn't hear your silent curse to him. 

“You look well,” he said. 

You nodded, acknowledging the half-compliment, sensing their relief. No, you weren't that broken withered girl you were when you left. 

“How is Nyx?” The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them. You would have been more annoyed at yourself, but your care for that child was pure, and you knew they would never withhold him as currency. 

“He’s well, growing every day,” Feyre replied. “And walking all on his own.”

Your smile, be it small, was sincere. 

“He still… asks about you,” she added. 

Pain sliced through your heart then, and you weren't quick enough to hide it in your face. “Don’t,” you whispered, your voice strained. Gods, that didn't take long.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quickly, hands reaching out before she quickly drew them back in. “I didn't mean–“ she cut herself short, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

You cast your eyes to the side, blinking away the sting of tears. “It’s alright.”

Rhysand watched you intently. “Perhaps we can all use some fresh air? I spotted a terrace, free from other guests.”

The choice was yours, you knew that. You had things you wanted to say, and you were sure they did to. You nodded, following their lead as you quickly cast a look backwards, Tamlin offering you a tight nod as you left the room.

————

“So, mission work in Spring?” Rhys asked, wine swirling in his hand as he leaned casually against a column, warm summer breeze surrounding the three of you as the party continued faintly below. 

You nodded, your arms crossed at your chest. 

“It’s very impressive,” Feyre added from where she sat, offering a genuine smile. 

You didn't respond, unsure of how much detail to reveal. Rhysand caught on, sighing slightly. 

“We didn't bring you here to interrogate you for detail, It’s only that your work and whereabouts is quickly becoming widespread knowledge. We thought it was best to acknowledge that we know it too.”

“And what of Cassian and Azriel?”

“We have held true to our bargain on that.” You believed him. 

There was an award silence, unasked questions looming. 

“Are you safe there?” Feyre asked quietly.

“Very much so.”

“And Tamlin is–”

“A friend,” you said quickly. 

“– respectful to you, was what I was going to ask,” Feyre said with a knowing look.

You sighed then, running a hand through your hair. “I didn't do it to hurt you,” you said, with a straight face. You owed her no allegiance, but, you were done hurting others, and her concern did no one any good. 

“I know,” Feyre acknowledged, with the grace of a High Lady, of someone who knew that the past was the past. She shook her head then, before adding. “We worry for you, that is all.”

“He’s changed.” You were shocked at how quickly those words left your mouth. 

It was Rhys who threw you a condescending look. You hated how small it made you feel. 

“Look, I appreciate your warning, but Tamlin has shown strides of growth, he has acknowledged his mistakes and is working endlessly to undo them. When was the last time you looked within yourselves?”

Rhys flashed his eyes at you with warning, bringing an arm to comfort his wife. “Careful,” he said plainly, but a flash of darkness passed through those violet eyes. 

Damn him. And damn Feyre too. “You didn’t so much as try to stop them,” you breathed, your eyes welling with tears as you focused on her. Gods damn it – you thought you were past this, past them. But it was as if a year away meant nothing, you were just as hurt as that night you left the Night Court. Feyre watched with a pain expression as your lip wobbled. “And you didn't so much as try to apologise,” you whispered, your voice moments away from breaking. 

Feyre’s eyes now glistened with the same tears. “You shut us out,” she countered, and you could see how much your own choices had wounded her.

“What choice did I have?” you asked, brushing away a stray tear. “You think I want to be this way? You think I wanted to cast myself out? You broke my trust and lied to me, alienating me from this family. And I was supposed to come to you for an apology?”

Feyre gulped guiltily, looking at the floor. Rhys watched you intensely, a concerned frown on his face. 

“You’re right,” Feyre said quietly, grey eyes now finding yours. “But you must know Y/N, I am sorry. I’ve been sorry since the day it happened. I thought it wise for Azriel and Cassian to want to protect you, but I realised very quickly how it was that kind of thinking that trapped me within warded walls,  and that had me fleeing my home all those years ago.”

You nodded, casting your eyes upwards to not let the tears stain your face yet again. “We can't keep doing this.”

“What’s that?” Rhys asked gently. 

“This,” you gulped, waving your hands between you. “These sorry confessions and apologies, it hurts us all.”

“Alright,” Rhys said neutrally. “But you acknowledge our apology?’

“Yes.”

“Do you forgive us?”

Your lips pressed tight as you grimaced. 

“That would be a no,” Rhys said sadly, his smile broken. Feyre couldn't force one if she wanted to. 

“I want us to move forward,” you offered instead. “There is no use in resentment. It may be that we’ll continue to cross paths, and it is important to me that you know I will not respond illy.”

“Of course,” Feyre nodded, smiling. 

A sharp pain throbbed at your temples then, the kind that came about when you had to keep your emotions and powers under tight strain. It was instinct to rub at your temples. 

“Can I heal that for you?” Rhys was now standing in front of you, his smile remained but his eyes – heavy, saddened. 

You blinked up at him before flicking your eyes to Feyre who waited eagerly for you to respond. Was this a test? Could it be, after all that had happened, you could consider them just…friends? You searched within yourself for the right answer, but nothing came about. It was just too soon. 

But there was no harm in letting Rhys work some of his magic. “Alright,” you replied, and you heard Feyre loose a breath. 

Rhysand’s hands cupped the side of your face, his fingers pressing to your temples as the familiar feeling of him slipping into your mind sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in you, something impossible to kill that was comforted by his touch. He was, after all, your High Lord of decades. He had been your home, your family, and maybe there was some part of that would always remain. It upset you how much you had to resist the urge to wrap your arms around his waist, to pull Feyre in too, to sob of how much you missed home, your family, how much you ached while you were apart. 

It was over as quickly as it began, Rhys slipping from your mind, leaving no trace of a headache behind. You hadn't clocked that you had closed your eyes, your lip quivering as your cheeks were now wet with tears. Rhys kept his hands on your face, brushing them away. 

“Y/N–,” he said softly, his face pained. You knew what he would say – come home, even if you hate us, come home. But you wouldn't give him a chance. 

“T-thank you,” you stammered, pulling away from Rhysand’s hold and fleeing the terrace, leaving the two to their shock. 

————

You were brushing away hot, fast tears as you fled the wedding, racing towards your guest room. 

Gods, what was wrong with you today? You hated feeling like this – an unstable, blubbering mess. Nothing had changed in a year, not really. You were still the same, broken and alone. It hurt just as much to see your family now. 

To hell with this wedding. You craved a sleep tonic and to be rid of this night. That was when Tamlin fell into side-step with you. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked simply, muttering the words to avoid drawing attention as you passed through the crowd. 

“No,” you managed to say, and you could have kissed him for playing into the nonchalance. He seemed to respect privacy, even when there was little to be found. 

“I’ll walk you to your rooms.”

“No, Tam, I’m fine, you should–”

“Nonsense,” he replied, and you knew you wouldn't shake him. So you walked to your room,  sniffing through your tears as you tried to calm the current brewing at your fingertips, Tamlin by your side.

You reached your quarters, a private corner in a long corridor or rooms. The door was carved in  unique artwork, familiar somehow, as if beckoning you to enter from within. 

“If you’re sure you’re alright,” he said with an unconvinced look. 

“I will be, Tam, thank you.” 

You gave his hand a quick squeeze, before turning the handle to the door. 

And made it two paces in, before shadows filled your vision. 

————

You swore as strong hands held your shoulders, blue siphons a blur as shadows cast around you. You fought on instinct, but it was impossible to shake Azriel’s grip. 

“What in Mothers name–?!” you cursed again. 

“You’re safe,” Azriel spoke with relief. Despite yourself, your skin ignited at the husk of his voice.

“Get your damn hands off me,” you gritted, taking in the room as the smog of shadows finally cleared. 

Cassian was between you and the door, where Tamlin still stood, completely stunned. The General’s hands quickly curled into fists.

No one moved, each of you just as shocked to see the other. They had come for you, yes, but you were certain Tamlin was an unpleasant surprise. 

“Fuck,” you ground out, almost rolling your eyes as you knew the strife that now awaited your friend. 

Azriel moved you behind him, as if you needed to be shielded, protected. “What are you doing here, traitor?”

“Let her go at once,” Tamlin growled, stepping into the room. 

You stepped out from behind Azriel, your mind reeling at the sight of the two Illyrians in you room. You hated them, but something in you churned - a yearning. It was easy to stamp down as a rage took over. 

“What are you doing here?” you countered.

Azriel gave you a piercing look, running his eyes down your body. There was love in that look, but a sternness too. 

“Answer me,” you ground out. 

Cassian was still facing Tamlin, his siphons so bright they radiated heat. “Did you hurt her?” he growled at Tamlin, a shaking rage consuming him. 

“You hunted me? Like a mare?” your voice was ice cold, colder than any of these males could ever hope to perfect. Your trust, betrayed, again. 

That voice snared their attention. Cassian casting a look back at you, desperate, like he wanted to give you all of his time, to never stop drinking in the sight of you. 

You prowled closer, fingers twitching as your power grew so strong zapping could be heard. “Rhys’s promise to me, the bargain. You broke it,” you spat.

“Y/N.” Cassian said your name, begging you. His pain cut through to you, your power dampening as a sick, sick part of you folded at his plea. Go to him, that part of you begged. 

The room was filled with a sharp coldness and breeze as Rhys and Feyre winnowed into your quarters, Feyre’s face one of shock, Rhys’s one of fury. 

“What in Gods name are you doing here?” he growled at his brothers. 

“You left us no choice,” Azriel seethed back at Rhys, his wing stopping you as you silently moved to join Tamlin. 

You glared at him. “Try that again,” you growled. 

Azriel’s eyes were dark, predatory, but his brows pulled with a softness only reserved for you. “I do not trust him.”

“And I do not trust you,” you spat back. 

“The promise,” Rhys growled, glaring between his brothers. 

“Y/N, we had no idea they had come,” Feyre spoke with a desperation that you had to believe her. 

“Leave. Now.” Rhys ordered, but the males ignored him, his power underwhelming in another court. 

Cassian’s brow pulled, his face truly broken as he spoke to you. “You left us. And joined him?”

You snapped at the accusation. “I joined no one, because I belong to no one. I pursued a life beyond you, and I am a free female. Free to roam wherever I please, and fuck whoever I want.”

You words landed their mark, because both Azriel and Cassian recoiled.

And then Cassian’s face turned grave, as he slowly faced Tamlin again. “You-you touched her?”

You cursed yourself for the pointed insult – you should have known it would put Tamlin in the firing line. To his defense, Tamlin held a high chin. 

“She is a free female. Nor you or I can rob her of that.”

Azriel snarled, and Cassian was on Tamlin in an instant. 

“Stop that! Get off him! You will not hurt him!” you cried, broken at the thought of Tamlin being hurt because of you. 

But before you could throw yourself at Cassian, night magic filled the space, pulling the males apart, commanding the room to its master. And you were surprised to see Feyre walking towards them, her palms outstretched, night pouring from her as her eyes now glowed with silver. 

“Sensless violence ends now, I don’t care about the circumstance.” 

What did she mean by that?

“Leave,” Cassian snarled at Tamlin, but Tamlin held his ground. 

“He is welcomed to stay so long as Y/N sees fit,” Feyre spoke coldly, forcing Cassian’s eyes back to her. Now that, was a High Lady. “I can not believe you two–“

“You weren't invited?” you interjected, untrusting of your exes as you scowled between them. 

Rhys shook his head from across the room. “We went as far to hide the papers.”

You gulped as you stared up at Azriel. “Pray tell, how you found me, then?”

Azriel wore no remorse as he said “Amren – she possessed an invite and–”

Exasperated sounds from each of you filled the room. Amren, of course. She was the only one to know to play games above Rhys and Feyre’s head, and cunning enough to pull it off. 

“And what is your plan, then?” you added coldly. “Drag me back to the Night Court, kicking and screaming?”

“No, of course not,” Cassian responded softly, stepping towards you, stopping as you retreated back. “We had to know that you were safe.”

You stared at him, the sorrow in his voice, the bags under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged. He was broken. 

“You were not well when you left, Y/N. It’s been killing us not knowing how you are faring now,” Azriel added, his eyes soft, looking just as worn as his brother. You knew he sang silently to his shadows as they coiled in on themself, they would be begging to reach you. 

“Please, don't be angry,” Cassian begged, his eyes welling. “We’ll go, we’ll go now, it’s just–”

“We love you. We- we need you,” Azriel interjected, his own brow clenched with pain. 

Each of their words were a dagger to your heart, piercing it’s way through the walls you had built. 

“Stop that,” you whispered, your hand pressing against your chest to ease the pain. Were these your feelings, or theirs?

“It’s true,” Cassian continued. “You’re our girl. We'll do better, Y/N, we promise. Please.”

It was painful to hear, and you faltered slightly as your body jerked in pain. Something was breaking within you, crumpling around something else, something buried deep. 

“Please Y/N, come home.”

Your knees gave out as you let out an anguished cry, your heart tearing and swelling to the point where you thought you just might die. 

“Y/N!” Tamlin called in panic, but Azriel and Cassian were already at your sides, holding you, asking where it hurt. 

Palms braced on the floor, you tried to breath through laboured breaths as you finally felt what was concealed for so long. It was unmistakable, a tether of sun-lit rope, tying you to the males at either side of you. You felt it all – their fear, the instincts to take you far from this place, their overwhelming, unconditional love. 

And you hated it. 

“No,” you gasped, your hand finding your heart as you tried to calm its pounding.

Azriel glanced at Cassian, who gave a single nod in confirmation. Feyre gasped from where she stood. 

“What is it?” Tamlin panicked. “What’s going on?”

“No!” you repeated, standing quickly and backing away from the two males. It couldn't be – you were free, you had left…

They watched you with saddened eyes at the horror that beheld you. 

“The Mother is cruel,” Rhys tutted, lowering his head in sympathy.

“What in the gods-forsaken realms is going on?” Tamlin yelled.

“No, no, no, no! Please, no!” You clutched at the roots of your hair, your mind reeling as you begged to no one. You were bound to them, whether you liked it or not. An enslavement of kinds.

“It snapped,” Feyre answered to Tamlin without ever turning his way.

It was too much to bare – their instincts, your newly ignited ones, their love, your hate. Your brain scrambled for sense, fighting itself over and over as you shook at your knees. 

A final ‘no’ pushed past your lips before your body gave out, the world tipping and your vision darkening as strong hands caught you. 

You succumbed to the gods damned mating bond. 

-------

This was your chance to get away. Start over.

Three years ago you planted your roots amongst synchronic pastels in a cul de sac as far as the eye can see, and it irked you that the colors of cars so neatly parked in driveways didn't match their respective homes.

At this morning hour, usually all the husbands and fathers, heads of the tables, even matriarchs of all shapes and sizes, all leave for work and won’t return until the neighborhood smells of pot roasts, meatloafs, and chicken pot pie.

Once the driveways are empty, the neighborhood homemakers roam free across the land of astroturf and pink flamingos.

Scuttlebutts in soup-can hair curlers, you call them, always catching a peek of their gatherings like animals at the watering hole as you draw back your tall blackout curtains.

Ever since you moved here, you’ve known the extent of their careful neighborhood watch, never before having a sense of surveillance paranoia until you started taking your trash out in the morning. If you didn’t work from home, you would’ve assumed by now they would have gone through your garbage like large rodents to see what secrets you’re hiding in this remodeled nineteenth century carriage house.

Technically, you’re not a part of the neighborhood, and they seemed to like it that way. Nothing had to change on their street, you weren’t even required to be a member of their Home Owners Association, which you absolutely revel in the freedom of growing your rose bush hedges as tall as they could get under that century old oak tree that shades the front of your house. You waited for the year to come when the hedges were tall enough to seclude the house and give you sweet smelling privacy.

Three years has been a dream really, but you don’t know the first thing about gardening. You bought the gloves, the comically large shears (of the pruning and hedge kind), Miracle-Gro Shake'N Feed plant fertilizer, stacked books that reside (barely cracked)on your secretary desk, even a wide brim sun hat to motivate you to work on your garden.

Maybe if there was an urgency of guests staying in your home you’d willingly go out there to sweat and smell like mulch.

But for now, you sit out there after sunset and drink tea with Wilde and Poe, sometimes E.T.A Hoffmann or La Fanu if you’re feeling indulgent with a hot chocolate, watching the steel cows come home the second light hops lamppost to lamppost and families all sit to table.

No signs of those mundane muckrakers today though, the foggy rain that’s been misting misery down on this quaint little street has kept them inside to instead chat over busy telephone lines.

Polidori and those lemon raspberry shortbread cookies you baked last night would have to wait.

Though it was dreary, it was the perfect weather for you to be out and about.

The perfect weather brings a perfect overcast as earl gray clouds shield the sun from beating down on your all midnight and onyx attire and camera, hung by a woven black and red strap.

Today, you were going to explore.

You decided that moment you first opened the curtains and saw the pristine asphalt street was gone, hidden behind a low-lying cloud that traveled down from the mountain right at the rear of your home.

There was a call coming from the mountainside clearing, a call from that abandoned mansion longing for your exclusive company, it seemed.

The gentle breeze through the opened windows whispering past your ears sent a delicious shiver down your spine, raising hairs of excitement the closer your 1974 faded-sienna AMC Gremlin ascended on the zig-zagging road through ghostly dark trees.

How its nightmarish architecture like a haunted castle pulled you in, able to see the tall points of stone steeples from the base of the mountain and watch as the spires ripped through the clouds like blades against silk.

Through the mist at night, you swear you saw a sparkle, a glimmer in the moonlight even, in one of the attic windows as you laid in bed and stared out the window in sleepless wonder.

The sound of crushing gravel under your halting tires continues as your boots step out of the car, the echo of your door shutting scatters the corvids on the large iron gates to return to their nests on high stone arches.

With the clouds residing at the bottom of the mountain, the beams of light caress the wet grounds and dissipate the mugginess you pulled in with each passing breath.

The earth smells damp here, trailing over soft and plush grass as you continue to stare with a slightly opened mouth.

There’s a mineral tang in the air that fills your lungs with relief, the divine smell of fresh rain you’ve gone long without since moving to a residential state of perpetual sunshine.

Another lift of your foot, your boot scuffs on the small flight of granite as you turn in your step for a higher view of the entranceway grounds

“Beautiful,” a near silent whisper unconsciously escapes at the sight of the landscape.

This plot has been abandoned for decades, but by a bizarre force of mystery, the gardens were well kept with trimmed and shaped hedges. There’s an elegance that surrounds you, unappreciated art never before seen by another set of eyes.

The astonishment continues as palms meet with monstrous carved teakwood doors, making rusty hinges shriek as you push and announce your entry into the high-arched ceiling foyer.

Natural light from the numerous stained-glass lunette windows spotlight a circling staircase and that pull you felt on the drive up the mountain side continues its siren song.

High flash from your bulb lights the room in increments like lighting from a storm as you transform into a glass-eyed cyclops, remembering that the weight around your neck wasn’t from the grief you were feeling for this fully furnished abandoned home, but your camera packed with a new roll of film.

Nikon wrapped around the nape of your exposed neck, you fix your upstyled hair once more before bracing the numerous steps, more than triple the stairs in your home.

Flash after flash, click, wind, wind, click, wind, wind- you take pictures of intricate webs on the metal railings, deserted too by their arachnid owners, as each step you take on the high climb ascension creates a vibration that shakes dust off strings silk.

On the highest floor, you pass through an arched doorway, catching a glimpse of yourself in a cracked tall mahogany hall mirror. You give yourself a half snide remark after a quick hitch in your breath and a restart of your heart after scaring yourself with your Count Orlock appearance. Those wide, dark, ashened eyes were yours, and that black trench coat that accentuated your shoulders to a sharp point was you.

“My dreams are heavy in this desolate castle,” you quote through a low whisper to yourself as you bring your camera up for a self portrait, “-but do not fear.”

As you go to point and shoot, your finger halts, ghosting over the button as you catch through the lens, a shadow silently scurrying down the hall.

A twist that nearly breaks your neck, there’s a drop in your stomach that grips onto the ropes of your vocal chords like a carillonneur in the belfry.

“Hello?”

You call out, making your voice low and brave, so as to not express the fear that had your shoulders tensing, holding your breath before moving, to hear for any sounds that may follow.

Ever so carefully, you slide off your backpack to exchange your now lidded camera for that small can of personal security-

Pepper spray, a necessity for solo explorations in abandoned buildings, that you clutch tightly as you swing your bag back over in one easy movement.

Silence replies and your boot has a mind of its own, making floorboards creak as you walk towards a large room at the end where a big gust of wind waltzes through the long hall and cools the heated skin behind your ear.

The chill kisses your pounding pulse that’s alerting you,

Danger, danger, do not proceed,

but you continue to drag your feet on the long persian runner embedded with a thick scuffed trail of mud that acts as your guide to where you want to go.

Where you need to go, you feel it in your chest, that magnetic pull becomes more intense as you step into the open loft, a slanted ceiling with a large caved in hole between exposed beams.

The source of the airflow, you watch as the wind choreographs dead leaves to spin and chase one another, sweeping them across the wooden floor panels with sporadic loose boards.

You exhale, lowering that small aluminum canister, feeling some sense of relief that it was only your mind playing tricks on you.

That’s what you get for staying up late and watching silent Japanese experimental horror last night, scoffing at yourself with a shake of your head as you go to get your camera back out. This view from the giant hole in the wall was incredible, you could probably see the ocean from up here.

Squatting to set your bag down, head lowered, you pinch the pull tab of your zipper, but quickly stop as the sound from the teeth doesn't match the noise your ears registered.

Snip.

You feel your heart rattle in your throat at the sight of garden shears catching the light from the far dark corner of this room.

“O-Oh,” your breath hitches in a panic, clutching your bag, and jolting to stand so quickly that you feel faintly lightheaded and stumble over your steel-toed boots.

“I’m sorry,” your voice shakes as you take a step back, “I-I didn’t know anyone still lived here.”

Snip, snip,

the shining blades emerged slowly from the shadows.

“How stupid of me,” You nervously chuckle, quickly glancing at the door and sucking in a shaky breath, bracing yourself for the sprint down the hall and thinking about how quickly you could unlock your car door,

“I-I’ll just be going now-”

“Wait-” A gentle voice pleads, sounding nearly saddened at your sudden plan exit.

“Please- don’t…

Don’t go.”

From the shadows a six foot tall figure adorning black leather reveals themselves, wet eyes behind a few thin locks of jagged dark hair gleaming like the lowering blades in hand.

All the air in your lungs escapes you, eyes now with a face making you forget for a moment there was any sort of mortal danger standing in boots less than a yard from your own.

His dark eyebrows slightly knit at the center, his head lowering as if he was apologizing for causing such fright.

Though, you seemed just as strange to him as he was to you.

The two of you stand there, looking the other up and down with lips parted, wanting to speak but both at the loss of words with chests rising and falling.

He, you blink, he is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

And you, he doesn’t dare blink, as you were the most heavenly creature he had ever laid eyes on.

Fuseli, Waterhouse, de Goya, and Klimt-

none of his favorite artists from the water damaged books in the mansion’s destroyed library could capture your chiaroscuro beauty.

He watches as your eyes flicker over his features, only then does he look away and return to shyness, wishing the shadow in the corner would grow and envelop him once more.

“What happened to you?”

“I’m not finished.” He doesn’t hesitate to reply, raising his arms to show you the obvious that only he was aware of in that moment, making you flinch and take a step back.

“Put those down- stay back, please…” you caution, the dreamlike gaze pausing, now wanting to reach in your bag and pull out that pepper spray.

Only to pause as he complies, not taking another step forward while silently elucidating with his eyes that he unintentionally holds various sharp blades.

Some of them are nearly a foot long, if not more.

“Are those your hands?” Your voice softens once more, loosening that grip on the canvas exterior,

“What happened to you? Are you alone?”

Too many panicked questions spilled from you all at once, noting how he stares at you like he didn’t know which one to answer first with need-to-know urgency.

He watches you take a calming breath, realizing you’ll get no information from him like this. Another pause, before your eyes return to his set, after taking note of that deep scar across his top and bottom lip.

“What happened to your face?” Mindlessly slips, as he watches the disheartenment form behind your eyes.

This beautiful face that reminds you of the all-American hometown football heroes you watched become prom kings.

This was the face of the Boy Next Door with a heart of gold that takes you for milkshake dates and tries to yawn and slip his arm over your shoulders at the movie theater.

You take a step forward with a raised hand, making him flinch like a scared animal, then only to quickly take the distance back, making him follow you once more.

A nervous waltz between two curious creatures of the shadows makes you lightheartedly chuckle, and he twitches his head in confusion at the gentle sound of amusement.

“It’s alright,” you coo, “I’m not going to hurt you.

I promise.”

I promise.

How the declaration made the internal mechanics in his chest pump and grind because right there- that moment, those words- that was his first step into your world, the unknown.

He trusted your words, he trusted you to not bring him harm.

“I just,” you stutter, rummaging through your bag.

“You’re, uhm…” You point to your own face, mirroring the fresh cut on his.

“You’re bleeding.”

The tall man watches you pull out a small first aid kit, retrieving a single antiseptic wipe. He intently stares with wonder as your fingers tear the package at the corner, to then unfold the towelette and give it a small shake.

“Can I…?” You ask, holding it up, and he nods, letting the white flag of an offer meet with his pale skin.

He leans his face in and you dab the wet cloth against his chin, the small stinging from the isopropyl alcohol making him tense and freeze.

“Sorry, I know-” you say under your breath with a soothing smile, “-it’s just for a second, this is just to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

With another step closer, boots nearly touching, you adjust the blood stained cloth to a cleaner spot, tending another irritated cut next to dual beauty marks next to his nose.

“Is this alright?”

He doesn’t respond right away, the closeness and ability to smell the faint floral black currant and sandalwood perfume on your neck making his deep hazel eyes unfocus. You can hear the faint scraping of blade against blade, as he tries his best to keep wrists at his sides.

Though the sound of fidgeting metal sends a shiver up your spine, you make your voice into a light mousy whisper, following a tilt of your head,

“What’s your name?”

“Steve,” he chirps, the name pushing past his purple tinted lips from the incessant cold.

“Steve,” you repeat with a soft echo over warm lips, understanding as if you were being entrusted with a delicate secret, never before heard.

It makes his dark eyelashes flutter, hearing the sound of his name said in your voice, so naturally gentle and sweet.

As you finish, your eyes catch the view from the grime covered window behind Steve.

Shoving the crumpled bloody cloth in your coat, he watches you walk towards the broken glass, following right behind, curious to know what drew your undivided attention away from him.

Through the missing window panel, your brows furrow slightly, and Steve, close enough to inhale the scent of hair caught in the breeze, wonders why your expression was suddenly lost in thought.

‘What is it?’ his eyes seem to say, looking at you, then following the line of your vision to the distance.

“I live down there,” you turn to speak, catching him near your shoulder, a lot closer than what you were expecting.

You clear your throat, pointing to the dark house with charcoal shingles on the cracked glass,

“-You can see my house from here. You can…

you can see my room.”

Steve stays silent.

He knows.

He’s seen you from his castle in the clouds.

He’s seen you like an insect moving around the premises; the time spent in your overgrown

Hodgson Burnett-secret garden of a backyard, watching you in your black winter coat shoveling snow.

For three years.

For one hundred and fifty-two weeks.

For one thousand and ninety-five days…

Steve noted that you were all alone,

just like him.

Your gaze remains on your bedroom window for a few moments before a shift of your eyes ponders in thought at the realization that

he’s seen your bedroom window, the only illuminated window as the rest of the street sleeps.

How Steve stands at this window, the highest room of this giant fortress of a lonely home, watching that sole amber light in the cul de sac from your bedside table until it flicks off.

All the while, you stare out your window up the mountain, laying in bed with your head on your pillow, watching the clouds swirl and cast moonlight shadows on the stone exterior of the eerie chateau before you drift off to sleep.

Some nights, Steve watches that glow not turn off at all.

Some mornings, you watch the sun rising from the east paint the mansion gold.

With Steve standing next to you at the window, you look down to the grassy landscape beneath you and see the fog that blanketed the street was now crawling home.

Another breeze whistles through the attic, raising the hairs on the back of your neck telling you it’s time to go home now.

It's cold again.

You watch the young man shudder, feeling that dismissing wind, too. There’s already slight chittering in his teeth and your eyes shift to the large fireplace, stuffed with what looked like torn drapes that once belonged to these large windows, and dried foliage collected from the shrubbery scattered around the grounds.

“Steve,”

You repeat one of your questions from earlier, an empathetic whisper as your jaw presses to your shoulder, not looking at him just yet.

“Are you all alone up here?”

His widened eyes that have not peeled away soften and he nods only once.

“Father didn’t wake up.”

He speaks without disconsolate in his words, simply stating a fact.

You nod too, a small sigh pushing through your nose over lips that stay sealed and yet still offer your condolences.

“Steve?”

You say his name only to then have the words stuck in your throat. Before the clouds restore lonesome and darkness, you catch the last few moments of sunlight illuminating Steve’s features.

The pointed tips of his ethereal eyelashes so incandescent, like the gates of heaven with those eyes that weren’t as midnight as you thought they were.

Oakmoss, with little flecks of gold that looked like light piercing through the high verdure and dancing in scatters across the shadowy green grass.

“I think…”

Those eyes are patient, not rushing you with any sort of expressed anticipation as you throw your better judgment right out of this broken window next to you and Steve.

“I think you should come home with me,” you declare, and you watch as the muscles in his cheeks fall lax with an unclenching of his jaw.

-

Steve watches as you sort through your keychain,

“Here we are,” you allow him entry first, and without hesitation he steps in, breathing in the smell of sweet lotus incense, and most importantly, you.

He stares at the walls of deep plum you painted yourself to cover that lifeless off-white it was originally colored.

Your home feels rich and soft, engulfing him in a royal warmth.

Each meticulous knickknack on your tall corner cabinet right at the entrance way, he wants to see everything, look at every little thing you’ve decorated your space with.

Your home.

Where you saw clutter, he saw treasure.

You stifle a gentle laughter, taking off your boots and peeling off your outer layer to hang it on the coat rack, watching over your shoulder as he has not moved from his first spot.

Steve smiles. Each little thing is odd, wondering what purpose such peculiar items bring. The shears sway back and forth at his amusement, bringing one hand to touch the miniature bust of Raphaelle Monti’s Veiled Maiden, absolutely in awe of how the marble portrays her flowering veil across her features. The tip of the blade gently caresses her cheek, but pulls back as you start the tour of your home.

“This is the living room,” you begin, simultaneously letting down your updo for your hair to cascade down your back, standing at the center of your black Turkish patchwork rug over the hardwood floor.

Your voice carries up the twenty-seven foot high ceiling. “My room is just up there,” you trail off, pointing to the dark sliding barn door on the upper level at the end of the catwalk-like path landing seen from down here on the ground floor.

You turn to look for Steve, who was no longer at the entrance way, but leaning forward to read every title on each book and album on one of your numerous shelves near the entertainment system.

“Music?”

“Yeah, music!” you come over to join him at your collection, “-what do you like?”

“Debussy.”

“Debussy? Oh, Reverie is such a pretty song, but I don’t think I have any of his compositions.”

Steve watches your fingers trace over the album spines, leaving no evidence of your touch.

“I have some Siouxsie, Depeche Mode, the Cramps, Xmal Deutschland… Alien Sex Fiend…?” You stop yourself, turning away to snicker as Steve stares at you with a blank expression like he hadn't the faintest idea of what in the world you were talking about.

“You’re probably not a Nivek Ogre fan either- though it looks like you’ve raided his closet.”

Again, he gives you a clueless shift of his eyes at yet another comment gone way over his head.

Over his head, you pause, staring at the top of his unintentional post-punk cut. His hair was dense, unwashed, and accidentally self cut at different lengths it resembled the back-combing style of one of your first loves- and it clicks.

“Hold on,” you tell Steve, crouching down to retrieve one of your favorite albums,

The Head On The Door.

Opening the case to your single turntable atop of a stereo system, you peel the sleeve off the black vinyl and bring the needle to gently land and catch onto the groove.

“You’ll like this,” is said before the turn of the volume knob, filling the open space with a sound that already gets you swaying your head.

“I promise,” you smile at the intrigued young man who watches the way your locks loosely draped over your shoulders like Winterhalter’s Empress Elissabeth with each oscillating move you made.

Yesterday I got so old, I felt like I could die.

Yesterday I got so old, it made me want to cry

Side to side your head bops, a little sway in your stance that contrasts Steve’sd completely frozen posture.

“Do you dance?” you ask, watching his features that twitch slightly in negative.

No, the scrunching of his eyebrows and slight pursing of his lips tell you.

Go on, go on, just walk away; go on, go on, your choice is made.

Go on, go on, and disappear; go on, go on away from here

You don’t force him, a simple shrug as the familiar audio fills your home, bouncing off the walls and hitting your bodies with a melody Steve has never heard anything like.

That’s when that small smile on your face starts to curl even more, watching his thick head of electrified hair catch onto the beat and just slowly, very slowly, a thin lipped smile begins to crack the concrete expression he’s kept since you first found him in that attic.

An actual smile on Steve’s face that makes warmth creep up your cheeks at the mere innocence of his enjoyment.

He’s a bit stiff, but he starts to shift his weight from one foot to the other. It’s cute how shy he is, but you give him a break, as it’s probably the first time he’s ever dancing with anyone.

Dancing with a girl for that matter, you assume, from the way his quick flickering eyes catch your gaze, as if he was saying,

Look, look at me,

I’m doing it.

“Yeah, you’re dancing!” you laugh in approval.

“Good?” He speaks for the first time since his arrival.

“Yes, Steve, very good,” your cheeks hurt from the way you were stupidly smiling, mostly at the way his movement really did match some of the people you’ve seen in batcave clubs dance to dark wave.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,”

The compliment from you nearly makes Steve let you see those pearly whites in an actual smile, as he blushes at the kind observation from you.

For a few more songs on the album you dance together, your own movements interchanging, as Steve still kept with his bobbing two-step to the riffs and synths.

Push begins to play, and you speak up,

“Oh, this is a really good one,” going to turn the volume even higher.

You turn to him with a twirl, reaching out in sudden thoughtless exuberance,

“Here Steve, maybe move your arms a bit, just-!”

And it all happens before you could process it.

All you felt after touching the leather sleeve of his arm was pain like from a whip- a sudden change of brain chemicals becoming hyper aware that your body just underwent something traumatic.

Steve terribly flinched at the touch of your hand on his arm, somehow slicing the top of your forearm, cutting through layers of sweater and a long sleeve shirt to graze your skin.

Crimson starts to seep into the surrounding fabric and yet you don’t scream, choking on air as by natural reaction your Hand comes up to firmly press your palm to the skin.

“O-Oh- I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He steps closer, wanting to help, though not really being able to.

“N-No, it’s okay,” you wince, taking a step back, the pain shooting up your arm as you’re fighting back tears the closer he gets.

The music now feels a little too loud and overwhelming in your pounding ears.

“I’m sorry.” Steve frantically repeats himself, watching the blood glaze over your hand and push through the cracks between your knuckles like thick, shiny red syrup.

Ignited nerves, adrenaline rushing to every end of your body, you go to turn off the player completely with a slam that makes Steve jolt.

Rushing to the kitchen sink where you pull your sleeve up, letting drops fall into the empty porcelain sink and splatter,

“I’m sorry.” Steve genuinely, genuinely means it through a small and remorseful voice.

Turning the squeaking faucet on you swallow thickly, losing that fight against the pressure behind the upper half of your face.

Wiping away the few tears that pricked at the inner corners of your eyes with the back of your palm, not even caring that your makeup smudged and transferred, you inspect the small gash of split skin after running it under water.

“It’s okay,” you exhale with a sniffle and a shaky breath,

“I know, I know you’re sorry.

It’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have just grabbed you like that.”

You look at Steve with inky watercolor eyes, a small sniffle as you try to make it as so it wasn’t his fault.

“I probably scared you, yeah?

I’m sorry, Steve.”

He watches you hold a folded kitchen towel and apply pressure,

“I’m sorry.” He adds once more.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you release that breath you’ve been holding, “I know it was an accident.

The both of us just… have to be a bit more careful now.”

Pressure from the blood stained towel eventually stops the flow, tossing it aside haphazardly as you go to get the bigger first aid kit you kept in your home.

Setting it on the kitchen island, Steve observes how with one hand you miraculously accomplish the procedure.

With one hand you wiggle that uninjured arm out from your sweater sleeve, coming into the body after escaping the second armhole of your shirt, pushing the entire thing over your head and carefully peeling the wet sleeve.

Steve watches as you even pull down your black camisole tank with a lace trim, averting his eyes quickly at the very sight of undergarments with your stuck together sweater and shirt covering your face.

The top of your chest cools, having warmed and covered in a light film of sweat from dancing just now. Each breath you take, Steve tries not to stare so blatantly at flesh so nice, rising and falling with a heart pounding from exhilaration.

Your hair like Lady Lillith, sticking to your skin and becoming a shawl of enticing webs to cover the low dip of your back as it falls.

Like lady Lilith, Steve finds himself enchanted; the first woman, the witch, the goddess.

You’re entirely wicked to Steve, an ambience of shadows around such beauty scented of sweat and blood.

You try to act like his little staring problem is simply because he doesn't know how to react- not because he’s incredibly infatuated with your fragility.

A small wince that escapes past your lips as the fabric brushes over the red open wound regains his attention though.

“Hurts?” he asks, standing with his chest close to your bare shoulder. You don’t feel a radiant heat coming off his person as the cool metal buckles across his torso feather over arm hairs on your bent elbow, getting ready to apply an antibacterial cream on the other arm.

“Yeah,” you try not to sound too mean in your caution to his seemingly obliviousness.

“-but I don’t think I’ll need stitches or anything.”

“May I see?”

An interesting request that makes you pause, but you’ve had guys in the past ask you to do stranger things.

“Sure,” you grant with a small crease between your brows, raising your arm for him to inspect the two inch long cut. There’s a sharp pain in the thumb of your other hands from pressing into the corner edge of that Neosporin tube as you can feel Steve’s cool exhales against your skin.

You hold your breath as Steve’s expression remains blank yet downcast, but also with a small tint of infatuation in those deep warm hazels shrouded by natural shadows in his features.

Irises pull along his widened inky pupils that trace the wound, lowering to be hidden under dark eyelashes.

As he leans in further, you watch as he puckers his lips, ever so gently.

A kiss.

A kiss that makes you draw back just as he did in the living room.

Through the rhythmic crescendo of drumming in your chest as you clear your throat, such an act in tenderness simply not done at your age.

Those kinds of kisses were reserved for when you skinned your knee, scraped your palm or elbow, or when you hit your head on something after being warned to not run in the house.

That kind of kiss was for a child, not at all servicing the genuine distress physical pain, but for the fear and panic.

It was supposed to make you feel better, Steve intended, but

when his icy lips touched your skin, it hurt even more than the cold steel slicing through the tender epidermis.

“Better?” Steve softly asks.

The final tear falls from your eye and splatters on the skin of your chest, a small sigh of a light laugh as you lower your arm to proceed with the first aid care.

“It helped, yes,” you nod, fighting those waves of creeping warmth at the sides of your neck as you feel him hovering close.

An exhale of your appreciation, “thank you, Steve,” lightens the tension between your bodies as he takes a step back.

Round and round the wrap seals and secures the gauze, making a note to leave the kit out for changing the morning…

and to buy more Acetaminophen, taking two with a pop in your mouth and a sip of water, a shake of your hair as you throw your head back to quickly swallow both pills at once.

A deep inhale through your nose that you feel inside against your ribs, it pushes through puffed up cheeks, slowly releasing and feeling the excitement die down.

Looking around your kitchen, the air suddenly feels easier to breathe, you find yourself alone; Steve has wandered off to look at more of the things in the open space.

Grabbing one of those raspberry lemon shortbreads, it chases the pain reliever down your stomach, swiping another one as you take your glass of water along to find Steve on the other side of the living room.

He’s bent over, nearly crouching down as his head of wild hair tilts this way and that, looking into an eighty-five gallon terrarium against the wall.

“Oh!” You speak through a crumb stuffed cheeked before swallowing.

“I see you’ve met Sylvie.”

“Sylvie?” Steve straightens his posture, his tone not expressing an understanding.

“Sylvia-” you give him the actual name of your beloved scaly housemate. “I named her after Syvlia Plath- y’know, all the prose and poetry- ‘I am a victim of introspection,’ confessional writing and everything?”

The look on Steve’s face replies, again, that he doesn’t understand the reference.

“She’s a Purple Passion;” moves the conversation. “A real beauty. She’s got this wonderful lilac-y, lavender-y hue from her albinism,” you continue, fingers pressing on the glass as you crouch to look for her. “-but she’s probably sleeping. They’re nocturnal, y’know?”

“Sleeping?” Steve crouches to join you, wanting to look for… well, whatever a Purple Passion was.

“Mhm,” you go to take another bite of cookie. “Snakes can sleep for sixteen hours- sometimes twenty whenever the weather’s cold.”

A turn to Steve’s face, you see his eyes completely bugged-out, a look of disgust at the realization of what a Purple Passion was.

“What!?” you nearly choke, “What’s that face for?”

The man’s face still folds sour, “snake,” he answers with a disapproving shake of his head.

“Aw, c’mon,” you want to nudge his shoulder, but recall the wrap on your forearm.

“They’re really gentle creatures, Steve,” he watches your eyes scan for her once more, before standing up and letting her rest.

“You just have to see past that scary outside, first.”

Steve looks off to the side as he stands back up.

That, he understood.

He gives the terrarium one last glance, almost as if to say ‘sorry, I meant no offense.’

“She’ll probably come out when she wants a cuddle…” you take another bite, “-or if she’s hungry.”

Steve eyes that cookie in your hand, “hungry?”

“I know I shouldn’t eat sweets before dinner,” you speak through the rest in your mouth,“-but I haven’t really eaten anything since breakfast.”

A swiping of your palms together, getting the little bits of buttery crumbs off your fingers, you finish your water and head back to the kitchen, Steve follows.

Mostly because he doesn’t want to wait for Sylvia to come out and want attention.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him, peering over your shoulder to him standing by the island and bloody rag. He approaches, shuffling over the dark wood floors to look in the open cabinets that make your lips slant. You could’ve sworn there was actual food in here, but now with company, the shelves were looking depleted and a little embarrassing.

You save yourself the humiliation and don’t dare open the refrigerator.

“Hmm,” Steve watches as you stand on toes to peer at the higher shelves, as if staring at the empty space and humming would magically conjure ingredients for a simple pasta dish.

“Pop tarts, Eggos, Pringle’s…” you start to make a list, mostly to yourself, of the nourishment options. “-but nothing that’s really for a proper dinner.”

Closing all the cabinets in a swift wave of your arms, you sigh and shrug off that realization of unpreparedness. Things were going to have to change around here now that you have an indefinite guest staying with you.

“We’ll just have to take a trip to the supermarket tomorrow,” you begin, fishing in that junk drawer near the sink for a pen and simple yellow notepad, already scribbling down basic food necessities.

Steve notes the way you hold your pen, infatuated with the way the ink flows in your scribble of a handwriting as it came to you without a second thought, simultaneously looking up and down at him and the paper.

“What kind of food do you like?” you ask, leaning over the counter, the cold against your skin as you prop yourself up elbows, ready to write.

The man in black ponders a moment.

Foods he likes?

He’s trying to recall.

What was the last impressionable meal that graced his taste buds with an everlasting craving for more?

You watch after a moment as it clicks, his eyes flickering upon placing a memory to recall something he liked and locking with yours as he nods with confidence in his answers.

“Raspberries.”

“Raspberries,” you repeat, drawn out as your pen swirls.

“Olives.”

“Olives… Kalamata? Spanish?”

Steve shakes his head, “Castelvetrano.”

How your eyes pop at his mention of the Sicilian olive in such smooth diction.

“Alright-” you start to write the specific request, though probably misspelling it. “Castelvetrano olives for Steve.

What else?”

“Chocolate cake.”

“Chocolate ca-” the pen pauses again, also looking up at him again as the entry registered between your ears.

“Chocolate cake?” you chuckle, and Steve nods, not understanding why you were looking at him like that.

“It’s my favorite,” he reasons, those eyes catching a glimmer of the overlooking light from the wide stained glass Billiard chandelier over your heads.

Who could deny such indulgence with that look he’s giving you?

“Alright-” you don’t further confer, a big grin on your face as you write down another request for him.

“And chocolate cake for Stevie boy.

A big one.”

-

The bright paper pinned to your fridge by a magnet, the two of you have moved on from list making, to yet another difficult task of the similar subject:

Deciding what you wanted for dinner.

Takeout menus scattered, it didn’t take long, as you found Steve agreeing with pretty much everything you suggested.

“Halal?”

“Okay.”

Though Steve wasn’t too sure what it encompassed.

“Or Mexican?”

“Okay.”

If you wanted it, then sure.

He was not as headstrong as he was about olives like earlier.

You settled on your usual go-to for take-out, a little Cantonese place just down the road.

King’s Palace, you’ve been a patron ever since you first moved here. It was your first meal in this home when it was just you and pillars of unopened cardboard boxes yet to be unpacked.

Dim Sum on the floor, right in the middle of the living room where that curved velveteen couch now resides.

As you held the receiver of the phone between your shoulder and ear, Steve observes the way your weight shifts from one foot to the other, the curvature of your back facing him hidden under the waterfall of locks that sway as you converse with Mr. Yim, the elder owner of the restaurant you’ve become a regular at.

The multitasking of your hands has him in a trance; the way you hold the open pamphlet folded menu, switching between the curling wrap of your finger in the spiral chord and a finger running down the lists as you decide what would be best suited yet still delicious for your guest with a rather atypical impediment.

You get everything- siu mai, xiao long baos, cheung fun, pork puffs, taro puffs, and as such- anything really that does not require the use of flatware.

“How is it?”

A recurring question throughout dinner as you watched the index finger of a place pierce through the steamed dough of a dumpling, meticulously and slowly brought to his mouth before the soft wrapping ripped.

“‘S good.” He responds through a stuffed mouth of har gow, having to put the whole thing in his mouth on account of the previous one slipping from his hold and landing on his leather lap.

You smile at his shrimpy grin, going back to your own plate, putting down disposable bamboo chopsticks, and joining him in eating with your hands.

How the tacky rice paper sticks to the pads of your fingers, dark savory syrup-like sauces and sesame seeds coating your thumb. Not wasting with a swipe of your napkin, a quick finger lick contrasting Steve’s noshing.

The two of you sit in high backed winged dining chairs- a set left behind by the previous owners and quite frankly, probably the most expensive out of the furniture you owned.

Extortionate furnishings brought a sense of anxiety- never using it in fear of stains and spills that will have you rubbing your knuckles against upholstery with the wrong cleaning solution that ended up in obvious discoloration.

So you avoided it entirely, taking your meals right at that kitchen island with scattered medical supplies.

Pulling back your barstool chair, you heard the sound of wooden legs dragging along the floor from across the way.

A shudder shook your chest- the realization that Steve was seating himself at the table you’ve avoided since moving.

Now instead of worrying about spots, you now face that giant slice in the opulent fabric behind the head of dense chestnut hair.

-

“Dessert?” You offer Steve, now moved to the outside, basking in those last few minutes of warm sunset that, to him, looked very different from this view on the ground.

The blush of the raspberry in the offered cookie matched the fantasia colors of the sky, the pale of the lemon shortbread matching his complexion.

“Good?” You ask Steve, standing before him seated in the other chair of the weathered Rattan pair.

“N-No…” that sour look of disgust made at your reptile now returning to react to the cookie on his tongue. “Not good.”

“No?” You laugh in a guffaw, holding out a napkin for him to spit out the chewed up crumbles.

“You don’t like my baking?” You tease, wiping the sides of his mouth and bringing up that cup of iced lavender black tea to wash out his mouth.

“Don’t like lemons,” Steve gasps, thirst quenched and problem resolved after lips let go of the straw.

“Ah, okay… Noted,” you go to take a seat and join him in the viewing, sliding that small white saucer of sliced sunshine citrus towards yourself with a half smile as you squeeze and pinch the pulp between your fingers.

“Lemon cookies, no.

Chocolate cake, yes.”

-

The day had finally come to a close, your body exhausted and aching from the excitement. You felt it as you were fixing your hair before bed, arms only slightly trembling from the way you worked on a French braid at the back of your head

You’ve changed into sleepwear, offering Steve an oversized shirt and pajama bottoms if he so desired, but he stayed in that strapped leather suit with the crescent moon belt buckle around his waist, even as he was laying on the blankets you threw over the couch.

The plush of the cushions had him sinking down, though his body was slightly curled from the odd shape of the mid-century couch.

It was better than the shrubbery and thin curtains, that was for sure. His feet did not hang over the foot of the bed, his head now rested upon a large throw pillow that poofed white feathers like snow the first time he saw you fluff it for him.

As he awaits you to return from the bathroom, he thinks back at all the things that happened, never would have thought that today, this regular Sunday, would bring a big change.

Now he would have been working by moonlight, attending his grounds as a mindless drive of thoughts required no sleep.

The sounds of his shears scraping and snipping brought comfort, now they were silent and still, only flickering ever so slightly as he watches you stand in the large arch-topped floor length mirror. From the ground floor, he can peer up the high ceiling and the path that leads to your bedroom where the sliding door was cracked ever so slightly.

Closer and closer he’s gotten to your bedroom- just the other night wondering what it possibly looked like from afar in his lonely high castle.

He hoped that tomorrow you could show him upstairs, were there many shelves of trinkets and books like down here? More framed art to gaze and ponder over? You have a lot of Vanitas still life paintings around your home. Interesting that you surrounded yourself in the transience of life and paintings depicting futility of pleasure, when this day was the first day in years that Steve truly felt alive.

There’s an attic door on the ceiling, a little drawstring with a small hoop dangling for pull down.

He wondered, as he stared off, if he could ever sleep up there with you.

“Do you need anything?” your voice soft and exhausted, ready for sleep as you stand to hover over his horizontally laid figure, still in the same spot from when you left earlier.

Steve gently shakes his head with a small tight lip of content-like smile, thanking you politely.

The need for slumber rumbles a sleepy mumble in your throat as you nod, fixing the thrown over afghan anyways.

He breathes your name and you hum to attention, looking at him sunk into that pillow with his chin upon his leather chest.

Steve’s eyes jump from yours and down to the wrappings in front of his face.

“I’m sorry.”

Catching the flicker of his eyes signaling what he was apologizing for, your hand hesitates in a clench, slowly unfurling as it approaches Steve’s features.

You can hear the small quiver of his scissor hands that stay crossed over his torso, but you continue on slowly, until fingers weave their way through his dark tangled locks.

You push the jagged tendrils out of his face, smoothing them all back with gentle brushes that make his eyelashes flutter from the tenderness.

“It’s okay, Steve.” You coo, a gentle caress with the back of your knuckle against his face in this dim lighting that looked nearly unscathed and radiant.

“You are good.

I know you are.”

“Get some rest now, okay?” You call from over your shoulder as you begin to make way to your room, one bare foot in front of the other on the open tread staircase.

“Good Night.”

“Good Night,” Steve echoes, watching you look back at him while crossing the landing.

“Sweet dreams,” he calls, your name sounding sweet and innocent as you start to slide the large door shut, pausing to walk closer to place your hands on the railing and slightly lean forward in fair Verona fashion.

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

“Sweet dreams, Steve.

Sleep well.”

-

The nighttime purple UV light of Sylvia’s enclosure, the humming of the fridge, Steve hears you upstairs moving around before you stop.

The light from the crack under your door turning off,

It’s quieter in your house as he wiggles slightly and sinks himself into the couch even more.

It’s different, but a good kind of different.

He’s learning that different is good for us good.

He’s warm, safe, and close to you.

Steve doesn’t remember the last time he closed his eyes comfortably and actually dreamed.

Sinking into the couch, he falls asleep to the humming of Sylvia’s enclosure and the refrigerator running. All the sounds in this high ceiling house bounced off the walls that kept him safe and warm from the terrible draft he would endure in the night.

From his bed back in the attic, he could see the stars through that caved-in ceiling, counting the stars until daylight after the moon passes.

That beautiful moon.

Now when he looks up, he sees the light leaking out from under your door, shining against the lacquered floor on the catwalk like the moon’s shining ambiance.

Staring off at your light, he closes his eyes. Listening to the sounds of crickets and counting the number of twinkle-toe steps you take.

He doesn’t dream, but if he did, he’d dream about redoing this afternoon.

You wouldn’t have that gash across your arm, you wouldn’t be up there in your bedroom with the light on all throughout the night with a locked door just in case, in case, something in this impulsive endeavor turned on you.

Your arm would be on his, sliding further up his bicep to rest on his shoulder. Your other hand against his chest, just right over his mechanical heart that now pumps with a purpose.

Steve dreams of holding being able to hold you,

and little did he know,

you dreamt of him dancing with you too.

“This is the happy house We're happy here in the happy house; To forget ourselves and pretend all's well.”

"It's very peaceful." She murmured.

"That it is. It feels more so at night, because there's more chaos nearby." He offered. She nodded.

They had been walking around the city for a couple of hours now, and it was almost dinnertime. They had decided to rest for a few moments before continuing. She was so tired that she was sure that her legs would fall off if she took another step. Obviously, she hadn't considered the consequences when she promised to spend the whole day with him.

The whole morning and afternoon was spent with him pointing at shops and telling her of how he and his brothers terrorised Velaris in their younger years. Y/n's stomach hurt from how much she had laughed. From those stories, she knew that most of his five hundred years had brought him happiness. And that made her happy, for a reason she didnt want to think of.

He tilted his body so he faced her more. "Where do you want to eat?"

"I don't know...can't you decide?" She glanced at him, quickly turning back to the river, because she couldn't look at him for more than a moment without blushing. Especially with the intensity with which he looked at her. As if she was the only person in the world and if he didn't pay attention to every word she said, he'd die.

She could feel him smile as he straightened. "There is this place along the banks of Sidra. Its the inner circle's current favourite place to eat."

"Okay." She mumbled as she turned to him. "How far is it?"

"Don't worry. I'll carry you."

"Excuse me?"

He grinned, turning away from her and giving her instructions to wrap her arms around his neck, ignoring her protests. She finally relented, his hands going under her thighs to hoist her up. He couldn't look at her, which she was glad for, because all he would've seen was the redness in her face.

She clutched him tighter as he started walking, mindful of his wings. He again started telling her stories.

"There used to be a restaurant there." He pointed to a tailoring shop with a jerk of his head. "When we ate there for the first time, we were obsessed. We made plans all week to eat there on the weekend. When the day came, Cassian starved himself in hopes of being able to eat more. And, because he was so hungry, he gobbled down all the food without chewing. When we were leaving, he started feeling nauseous."

Y/n grinned and rested her head on his shoulder, having an inkling of where this was going.

"As soon as we stepped inside the town house, he threw up all over the threshold. After that he never even stepped foot in the general vicinity of the restaurant, as if it was somehow cursed."

Y/n laughed. "He is... a masterpiece."

"That he is." He agreed. Soon, they had reached the restaurant he was telling about and he helped her settle before he took seat.

As they ate, he managed to get Y/n to tell him about her life. And, because there were not really any happy or pleasant memories in her life, she told him of the less gruesome and painful ones. She watched as his anger grew with every word from her mouth.

When they were flying back, he stayed mostly quiet, as if lost in thought. Before they landed though, he turned to her.

"There is a family dinner tomorrow at the river House. I'd be happy if you came."

She considered it for a moment before nodding. "I'll come."

"Thank you." Quiet joy took over his face as he set her down, his lips twitching as if he was holding back a smile as he kissed her hand before flying away.

She stared at his form until she couldn't anymore, smiling.

Azriel had been extremely adorable today, and she would be lying if she said that she wasn't excited to see this side of him again.

•○🌑○•

The darkness was creeping in again as she stared at her abdomen in the mirror. Her shirt was stuck around her wrists as she clutched the cloth to her chest. The disgusting thoughts and vile ideas she had regarding the disgusting marks on her body swirled through her mind.

She hated herself for it.

She hated everyone who played a role in bringing her to this point.

Everyone who had a hand in turning the hopeful little soul she had been into the unoptimistic female she was today.

Somewhere deep in her she knew it was wrong to think about herself that way, but she didn't care. Her father and the other men's laughs were too loud for her to hear the rational thoughts.

This was the sole reason why she never looked at herself when she changed. It bought back those dark memories and thoughts. But today she couldn't help it.

She was getting ready to go to the dinner with the inner circle when she had peeked at herself, and now she couldn't stop thinking of how disgusting her body was.

She knew if someone came in from the door, they would have an unobstructed view of the map of horror on her back. But she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment.

While she was busy thinking of these things, she didn't hear the soft footfalls nearing her room. She didn't hear them until it was too late.

A knock sounded before her husband poked his head in, the smile on his face disappearing as she pulled the shirt back over her head. She gave him a shaky smile as she watched a muscle feather in her jaw.

"Az– Azriel. Did you need something?"

He didn't reply, entering the room fully, the door clicking shut behind him. He prowled closer, ignoring her questions and attempts at distraction. When he was close enough, he traced lines on her now clothed back, exactly where some of those scars were.

His eyes slowly lifted to meet hers in the mirror, his voice quiet and deadly as he spoke. "May I?" His hands brushed the hem of her shirt. She wanted to say no, but she nodded.

He slowly and gently lifted her shirt as she clutched the front of it so she didn't get completely naked in front of him. His eyes traced the marks on her back with a fierceness that would've sent people running.

"Who did this to you?" His voice sent shivers down her spine.

"My– my father and a few other men."

He met her eyes again, his eyes flashing before glancing down at her abdomen which had gotten exposed. He stepped closer, curling his arm around her around her to reach the scars. His face was murderous, but his hands were gentle. So gentle her knees nearly buckled.

He traced those scars, completely silent. The air was filled with tension as she watched his every move, her eyes prickling.

His eyes slowly lifted to hers again, his voice lower and more dangerous as he spoke. "Anywhere else?"

She knew he was asking if she had more scars. Which she did, so after a moment of consideration, she unclasped the few of the clasps at the top of the shirt and pulled the flaps aside.

A startled gasp full of horror left him as his eyes flew wide.

There, on her chest right above where her heart should be, was a nasty scar.

"How did you survive that!?" He questioned, his voice wobbling.

She smiled. "He wouldn't have let me die that easily." She turned to him. "Before the bargain between us was made, he wasn't that bad. Then he slowly started ignoring us. Mother wasn't talking to him, spending most of her days with me. But then, so deep in despair she was, she stopped taking care of herself. And that was the start of her slow and sure demise." She took a deep breath, tears gathering in her eyes.

"After she died, he only got worse. He started yelling at us, and then hitting us. It soon turned to whipping us." She searched Azriel's face before continuing. "After you left, the Camp Lord kicked us out of the camp, not wanting to share the power when he was no longer getting something out of it. We stayed nearby for a few years before father somehow convinced him to let us back into the camp.

"Later on, we found out that he had made a bargain that he would let the males in the camp beat us for their own sick pleasure. He–"

"What?" He had gone rigid.

She swallowed. "They started an event. It took place every year. The men who wanted to feel like they were great warriors would come and fight with the women, who had no experience. Seeing their opponent, especially a female, beaten and bruised, gave then satisfaction. Some of those scars are the result of this event. But it was stopped the moment Rhysand became High Lord.

"One day, father got so frustrated for something that I can't recall right now, and conveniently, I was nearby. He got a blunt knife that he was about to sharpen, ant stuck it in my chest. It hurt." A tear escaped her eye as she recalled the pain. "And becuase it was blunt, it took more force for it to pierce skin. When he was done and I was nearly dead, he got a healer to get me healed."

At this point, tears were streaming down her cheeks. He pulled her to his chest, his lips ghosting over her temple. He murmured things in her ear, but she couldn't make anything out over the sound of her sobs and her heart beating in her chest as she clutched onto Azriel as if he was the only thing keeping her alive.

He didn't complain, holding her back just as fiercely.

Sometime later, she decided to get dressed. So she pulled away and walked into the adjoining bathroom. When she came back out, Azriel smiled at her.

"I'll drop you off at the house. I have an important thing to do."

She nodded, despite wanting to ask him to not go.

Soon, she was sitting with the inner circle in the sitting room of the River House, glancing out the window continuously, hoping he came back soon.

•○🌑○•

It was somewhere near midnight when Azriel returned, smiling at her. She smiled back, a blush already creeping up her face. He sat next to her. He smelled and looked like he just taken a bath, his hair damp.

Almost an hour later, the High Lord left the sitting room, saying someone had brought some reports for him. Azriel watched him go, his jaw clenching. But when he found Y/n looking at him, he smiled again, relaxing.

It wasn't long before Rhysand burst back in, fuming. He walked straight to Azriel, who was already standing.

"What is this Azriel?" Rhysand waved some papers in front of her husbands face. Confused, everybody sat straighter, somber.

Unease started swirling in Y/n's stomach. If the High Lord was so mad, it must be something important.

Azriel glanced at the High Lord's hand before back at him, speaking calmly. "Those are papers Rhys. More specifically, they look like reports."

Rhysand looked on the verge of murdering someone. Y/n stood. "Tell me why, tell me fucking why, an Illyrian camp was burned to the ground. That too exactly while you were absent."

Her heart stopped as she stared at Azriel, his face void of any emotion or remorse. If anything, he looked proud.

What in the name of the cauldron?

•○🌑○•

The Spring Court lake had weathered the same depletion as the rest of the state. Empty wooden cabins sat abandoned and unused, the sand had turned grey and the flourishing fruit trees that once aligned it hacked down to stumps. Hybern had drained Spring Court of so much of its natural resource and beauty. 

“It’s a disturbing sight, isn’t it?” your uncle muttered, placing two steaming mugs of tea at the table beside you, joining you on the porch. His bark-like skin had weathered and aged since the last time you had seen him, untold sorrows hiding in his deep within the ripples. What atrocities had he witnessed during the war? And what bargains had he had to make to keep his own cabin standing amongst a sea of homes destroyed?

“I’m so sorry Finbark. I should have returned to help you sooner,” you said, your heart clenching as the males eyes warmed with a pain smile. 

“I did not write for a reason. I would never want to drag you into this mess,” he said, waving his hand to the desolate land around him. “Not when you were so aligned with an enemy court.”

You raised the mug to your lips, casting your eyes to the lake before blowing on the hot liquid. He was right, you had no business entering Spring Court at a time like that, never mind that you were completely preoccupied with serving your duties alongside Cassian and Azriel. Gods, your heart ached more than it should just at the thought of them.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying not to dwell. “It sparkles the same,” you spoke distantly, distracting yourself. “The lake, I mean. It still sparkles in the way I remember.”

Finbark chuckled, his eyes warming again. “You and Meryl spent so much time in that lake, I remember your parents debating on how they would have to bribe the two of you out of it.”

You forced a smile back, clenching your mug a little tighter. 

“It was the same for my cousin’s nephews, they adored playing in the water, they would beg their Aunt to come stay for weeks on end.”

“Whatever happened to them?” you asked, unsure if you could handle the truth. 

“Of Alis and the boys?” He paused then, clearing his throat. “They fled to Summer, with some luck and no deniable assistance from your High Lady.”

You had to physically swallow at Feyre’s mention, but the relief was greater to know Finbark’s family was safe. “Well, she’s no longer my High Lady,” you corrected. 

“I’m sorry, I don't mean to upset you.”

“Not at all Fin,” you smiled softly before drawing a deep breath. “I know she is a generous and caring ruler, and I’m grateful your family is safe. I only wish I could have done more.”

“I was protected too Y/N. How do you think it is my home is still standing, or that I am here at all? I’m clever, but not that clever,” he winked. “I have no doubt my relation to Alis and your parents kept me well and safe during the war. No wagons found the trail to my home, no one knocked on my door demanding answers or resources, or to pick up a weapon and fight. It was if I didn't exist at all.”

It clicked then – of course. Alis had been Feyre’s maid at the Spring Manor. Feyre had spoken of her so fondly. And you had been so worried for Finbark’s safety, confiding in your High Lady who had merely comforted you at the time, reassuring you that he would be safe. She and Rhys never mentioned their connection, or the magic they spent to keep Finbark hidden. Your heart ached at the reminder of their generosity. 

“Y/N?” your uncle waved a rippled hand in front of your face, and you blinked before straightening, drawn back from your thoughts. 

Fin sighed with a knowing look. “You don't need to feel guilty about the magic that kept me safe, sweetheart. They wronged you in a very serious way.” 

Your eyebrows clenched as you blinked back the sting of tears. “But they are good people Fin, the lot of them.”

Finbark’s hand rested atop of your forearm, his face soft with understanding. “It changes very little, young spark. The damage is all the same.” Your uncle once again waved his hand out to the barren land around you.

You stood now, setting your tea down – you needed to get out of your head. “I will make one more trip to town tonight, there are some homes still without firewood.”

“At this time? You’ve been working since dawn Y/N, why not rest? It’s not as cold tonight.”

But you were already reaching for your axe. The more you moved, the less you would have to think. “It’ll be alright uncle, I’ll return before midnight.”

He didn't say anything further as you sheathed the weapon to your back, heading up the trail to town where the sun had already began to set. 

————

It had been five months since you had found home in Spring Court. 

At first, you found work serving your uncle’s town. Much of the remaining fae had rural upbringing, with little skill to sustain themselves after their farms, once lush with crops and animals, were destroyed. 

Word spread quick of help from an outside court, and when you were sure the locals could stand on their own two feet, you began to travel, finding town after town with more fae in need. So began your course, trailing further away from your uncle’s cabin at the border and nearing the centre of the court.

Magic found you easier here too. Whether it was the exhaustion from a hard days worth of work, or that you rarely had a moment to think about yourself, you didn't know.

Soon enough, you learned to summon your sparks, lighting fires in homes in an instant or heating food and teas for the ill. It wasn’t much, but you had never yielded so much control, and didn't remember a day when you hadn't feared your abilities since Meryl’s death. Finbark was particularly delighted when you showed him your new trick, clapping with a cheer, reminding you of why he dubbed you young spark.

So much of Spring Court reminded you of your sister, and while it had never been your home, memories of pleasant holidays surrounded by loved ones seemed to wait at every garden, field or bubbling brook you encountered. You welcomed those memories, letting grief wash over you when it came, using it to fuel your determination to keep on working. Grief was a weapon of kinds, and you were only now learning to yield it. You would build a better world for those who were left behind, just like you. 

And over the course of those months, the land around you slowly came to life. Not from your work alone, but as the fae of Spring Court worked together to heal and rebuild, the land began to give back. The grass was greener and more lush now, flowers blossomed instead of dying at the bud, and trees bristled as gentle breezes passed through their luscious leaves. The land wasn’t yet singing, but it began to hum – it was healing, and so were you. And you were sure somewhere out in these lands, so was its High Lord. 

————

“Damn it Rhys! Let us go!” Cassian slammed his fists on the table, silver cutlery and porcelain plates rattling at the force. 

Rhys’s gaze was cold as he glared back at the General. “No,” was all he answered. 

Feyre fidgeted with her hands in her lap, her dinner now cold where her knife and fork set at her plate minutes ago when tension began to brew. She knew there would be another fight tonight – neither Cassian or Azriel had taken the order to begin training the new recruits at the House of Wind well. It reminded them too much of Y/N, and they had spent five months furious with both her and Rhys for placing them on court arrest, stopping them from scouting Prythian to find you.

“Feyre, please,” Cassian begged, his brow clenched in anguish. 

She swallowed, her heart pulling at his pain. “You know we can't Cass, Rhys gave her his word.” The black ink-like marking on her forearm itched at the mention, the symbol of a cross inside a triangle – a treasure and its whereabouts locked in secret. The mark had appeared the same moment Rhys had promised to not trail your location, an identical mark etched to his forearm too.

As part of that promise, the High Lord and Lady had ordered Cassian and Azriel against anything they could do to find you – there was to be no tracking your scent, no using intel from other courts, and no leaving the Night Court to investigate.

Cassian roared in frustration, throwing his head in his hands, gripping at the roots of his hair. “We only want to know she’s safe. If you care for us at all–"

“Enough Cassian!” Rhys bellowed, night filling every void of the room. Everyone froze. 

Rhys pinched his nose, the clouds of his magic lower to a thick fog that covered the floor. “You do not question our care for anyone in this family.”

Azriel spoke then, stiff and stoic from his seat. “It is worth the breach of the bargain you made. We will burden the consequence.”

“It’s not just for the consequence, Azriel,” Feyre answered, meeting the Shadowsinger’s hardened stare. “This was Y/N’s choice. How do you think she will feel knowing we have breached her trust again?”

“I will deal with that after I know she is safe.”

Rhys ran a hand over his face before rubbing at his temples. “As I have said countless times, you will not be granted permission to track her.” Rhys’s power tightened then, yanking on a leash he had kept around the General and Shadowsinger’s necks for months.

“How can you do this to us?” Azriel seethed, knuckles white from where the gripped the table. 

“I don't know Azriel. Perhaps the same way I kept Y/N grounded when you ordered her unfit to kill Alvar.”

Azriel stood then, his seat thrown back. “How dare you,” he spat, shadows racing towards the High Lord.

Rhys stood too, night magic clashing with shadows, a fight for dominance. “Calm yourself,” Rhys growled, staring the Shadowsinger down.

Mor sighed, swirling the wine in her glass from where she sat, fingers strumming the table impatiently. “Can we not go a single dinner without it turning to a fight?” she said flatly, before drawing a long sip.

Azriel’s teeth drew back to a snarl as he whipped his head to her. “Since when did you become so heartless?”

Mor stood, levelling her brown eyes at the Shadowsinger. “Don’t be a fool, I care for Y/N just as much as you. But I trust in my High Lord and Lady to dow that is right. When was the last time you exercised that same loyalty you swore to this court?” Mor paused before speaking again. “You’ve become undone, the both of you. And you will unravel this family if you continue down this path.” 

Feyre threw Mor a grateful look.

Shadows continued to bulk at Azriel’s frame. “She is our love, Mor. Are we not worthy of her whereabouts?”

“No,” Mor said, her voice flat and cold. “You are not. That is your consequence for holding her too tight.”

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his eyes widening as he recoiled ever so slightly. Cassian could not raise his head from where it still hung in his hands, but for a moment he stopped breathing.

Mor softened then, seeing how deep her words had cut. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still stern. “But it’s true. And I’m tired of having our family torn apart because of a decision that was her right to make. We have to rebuild what is here, what we have left. Otherwise our family will be ruined, and with it our court.”

Cassian took deep, shaky breaths, trying to hold the anguished cry that begged to be released. He had endured months of restlessness heartbreak, and there was no sign of it easing. It was torture.

Azriel looked back at his brother, knowing that pain, feeling it writhe within himself. Wordlessly, he walked to Cassian, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder and winnowing them from the room.

————

It was early one morning after you had set off from your uncle’s cabin, days worth of resources and tools hung from the back of your horse.

The horse was noble, a once well-kept steed that had been abandoned since the war. He had found you in a field, bucking and neighing as you approached. But with a gentle hand to his nose and some soothing commands, he had yielded, reminded of his connection to fae. 

Every great steed deserved a name, and it found you instantly – Podie. It was Nyx’s way of saying “pony”, his chubby finger pointed at the array of horses in the stables when you had taken him with your family, the lot of you chuckling at his adorable attempt. Your heart ached as you thought of the child, of how much he must have grown since you had left the Night Court. So you named your horse in his honour, and relished the comfort it was to feel feel that little bit closer to him.

Finbark had waved you off as the sun was rising, and it was only a few hours later when had you entered the trail you had become so familiar with, headed for the next town on your map. The quiet was tranquil in Spring Court, but in that moment even the birds stopped singing, and an eerie sensation swept you over you, the hairs on your neck standing. Podie’s nostrils flared as harsh breaths blew from his snout, his ears twitching nervously.

Something, or someone, was watching you.

You immediately dismounted, not wanting to zap or upset Podie as began power tickling at your skin. 

“Who’s there?” you spoke, your heart fastening at the rustle from behind the trees. 

For a moment, you thought they had found you, and your heart thundered as you prepared to confront Cassian and Azriel. Would they try to apologise again? Were they here to convince you to return to the Night Court? Perhaps they would go as far to drag you back, kicking and screaming?

Bile rose in your throat as you searched for the peaks of wings or siphons glowing amongst the greenery that rustled. Instead, antlers poked through before revealing narrowed green eyes. Heavy paws padded against the ground as a half-elk, half-lion emerged, prowling towards you.

You startled, fumbling back a few steps, too shocked to find your words. The beast approach, sniffing as sentient eyes scanned you with a knowing look. And as you stared back, you realised quickly who the creature before you was.

Before you could demand it, Tamlin morphed to his fae form, blond hair cropped to his strong shoulders, sharp green eyes fixed on you as he stared you down with a tight jaw. 

There was no question of his beauty – Tamlin was incredibly handsome, even with his face fixed with such a stern and threatening stare. He was not cloaked in green as Feyre had often described him, instead he wore brown working pants and a black shirt that were rolled at the sleeves revealing strong, veiny forearms. He was dressed no better than the working class of his court.

“High Lord,” you greeted as you bowed your head, lowering slightly at one knee. This was his court at the end of the day, no matter what he had done to ruin it. 

He watched you intently, unspeaking and his face softened ever so slightly, his jaw unclenching only a little. 

“Can I help you with something?”

“I’ve come to meet the Night Court emissary who has been assisting in the refuge of my land.” His voice was deep, commanding even after everything he had lost.

“I assure you, I am no longer affiliated with the Night Court. There is no treason to be found here.”

“I know.” He said with a straight face. “I’ve been tracking your work for months.”

You gulped at that. You had hoped to blend in, an anonymous helper with no past and no future.

“Did you think you could enter my court unnoticed?” he questioned, and sharp brown quirking. 

You found your eyes narrowing. “From what I was told, your borders had fallen, and your lands used as a place for sanction after the war. I did not think announcing my arrival was necessary, and you were certainly in no position to refuse my aid.”

Tamlin was unmoved at your tone. Instead he ran that pointed green stare down your body and back up again, flicking them to Podie who stood to the side, grazing on some grass, before settling them back on you. “Why?” he asked. 

“Pardon?”

“Why have you come to aid my court?”

“I care to help those in need.”

“There are plenty across Prythian in need.” Tamlin was scowling now.

There was a beat of silence between you, only the sound of the heavy breaths that left Podie’s nostrils to fill it. 

“What did they do to you?” Tamlin asked. There was no softness in his question.

Now it was your turn to scowl. “I sought your court, High Lord, because I have an uncle who resides by the lake in the south. I knew there was work to be done here, and I had a home at his cabin.”

If your answer satiated Tamlin, he did not let it show, his green eyes continuing to pierce through you. It was a conscious effort not to let your power overcome you in the grasp of his stare. 

“Come to my Manor.”

You choked. “Pardon me?”

The High Lord shuffled then, his first natural movement, and you could have sworn a slight blush tinged his cheeks. “My apologies, I’ve spent so much time in my beast form, it’s easy to forget my manners. Please, join me for a meal at my Manor. It’s the least I can do, to thank you for your contributions.”

Your stare on Tamlin harshened. “I did not do it for you.”

Tamlin merely shrugged. “I’m aware. Regardless, I am grateful.”

You had only heard of Tamlin’s Manor through Feyre’s stories, how he had warded the home, trapping her within, hurting her with that uncontrollable rage of his. You had little interest in seeing the place where this occured, a small tether of loyalty to Feyre ignited at the thought.

You may as well have said it out loud, as Tamlin tracked the movements in your eyes before bowing his head. 

“The choice is yours, of course.”

You swallowed, observing the male before you. A High Lord would never bow their head for such a thing. 

That smallest of behaviours begged so many questions. Was he sorry? Was he ashamed? Was it possible Tamlin had learnt from his mistakes, and had grown to be a better High Lord? 

He reminded you so much of the males you once loved – a good heart with mislead direction. If he had shed of his possessive and controlling nature – you craved to see it, you needed to know it possible, even if it was in someone else. 

So you realised there was a part of you that wanted to go to the Manor and join Tamlin for an evening, to answer that question alone. You could attend for one meal, just to plug the hole in your heart for a night.

“Alright. I’ll visit your manor,” you said impartially.

Tamlin nodded once. “Is there a time that suits you best?”

You looked back at Podie, waving an arm to the gear and resources strapped to his saddle. “I will spend three days in Rellford to assist with building a new market. With another afternoon of travel I can make it to your Manor in four days time.”

Talmlin nodded again, smiling softly now, the pull of his mouth catching your breath as his handsomeness was further revealed. “I look forward to it, Y/N L/N.” After a low bow, Tamlin was once again a beast, treading away and leaving you to continue your journey.  

————

You stood awkwardly at the door to the Tamlin’s Manor, your hand hung in the air, unable to make the first knock. 

The gate had willed itself open, and you were surprised to see the exterior well kept, almost immaculate. Rhys had described it differently from his last visit, ivy overgrown and no maids or servicemen to be seen. But a stable boy had helped you dismount on arrival, guiding Podie by his reins with a polite bow. 

You smoothed out the skirts of your dress, self conscious of the scent of the horse you undoubtedly carried. You wore a humble frock, feminine and loose, one that allowed for a few hours of riding. The countless bold and revealing gowns you had once loved were left behind at the Night Court, they had no place in the new life you were building. With a final shake of your head, you willed yourself to knock on the large arched doors. 

But before your fist made contact, the doors swung open, revealing a maid. 

“Hello,” she said sweetly.

“H-hi.”

“Come inside.”

And so you did, taking in the impressive home. Natural light poured in from all around, floor length windows cast open as sheers danced gently as the breeze passed through. Tasteful vases of Spring’s finest flowers decorated the space, with countless rooms joining the space and a grand staircase that led to reveal even more of the manor. 

The maid lead you to a sitting room, the space just as light an airy, with no door, just an open archway. This was not what you had imagined at all.

“The High Lord is expecting you, but he apologises as he has a meeting that has run over. He won't be too long, but would like to convey his apologies,” she said with pep. “You can wait here, M’Lady. Would you care for something to drink?”

You silently took a seat at the lounge she had waved at, looking behind at the floor to ceiling bookshelves that aligned the room. It was a tasteful room, and you thought you could spend all day he curled up with a good book. 

“No, no thank you,” you eventually said, slow to respond in your awe of the house. 

With a bouncy courtesy, the maid left you to be. 

Standing immediately, you moved to inspect the books, fingering their spines and muttering their titles aloud. 

“Flora and Fauna of the Spring Season. How to Care for Roses and Thorns Alike.”

Your ears pricked as two sets of footsteps making their way down the staircase, and deep voices spoke in discussion. 

“I would be grateful for the resources Tamlin. And it’s clear you are mending your court. I would be happy to align with you once again.” 

You knew that voice – Tarquin.

“I’m glad, and yes, we are making progress. Though it would be insincere of me to accept any credit. I thank the people of my court, and I have had aid from others too.”

The males passed the open archway to the reading room, Tarquin stopping in his tracks. 

“Y/N?”

You froze, book still in hand. “Greetings, Tarquin,” you said thickly, barely able to swallow. 

Tarquin cast his magnificent blue eyes to Tamlin for just a moment, and you were sure if you had blinked you would have missed it. You glanced at Tamlin too, who showed no sign of discomfort. 

Tarquin was quick to recover from his shock, making his way over to greet you, embracing you with open arms and a quick kiss to each of your cheeks.

“I’m sorry to have heard of your departure from the Nigh Court,” he said, blue eyes fixed on you with a warm, sorry smile. 

You smiled back softly, rubbing his arms where they held your shoulders. “That is kind, Tarquin. I am sorry too.” You fought the urge to embrace him again – it was so nice to see a friend. 

Tamlin waited by the archway, his hands behind his back as he watched your interaction with passive curiosity. 

“And how did you find yourself in Spring?” Tarquin asked. 

You shrugged. “I have an uncle here, and I wanted to work to help repair that lost in the war.”

Tarquin nodded. “Yes, Tamlin was telling that he was quite impressed with you. And I must say, it’s encouraging to see how much progress has been made.”

You flicked your eyes to Tamlin who remained unmoved. He had credited you to another High Lord? You blushed lightly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

“And what of Varian and Cresseida? Are they well?” you skilfully diverted the conversation.

Tarquin grinned. “Varian is well, and Cresseida is engaged.”

“Engaged!” you burst, a smile so wide on your face as you thought of her. She was always a romantic. 

“Yes, she’s quite excited, as is the rest of the family. You will keep your eye out for an invitation to the wedding, yes?”

You blushed again – you were unsure how the news would be received by the other High Lords of your leaving, it was nice to know you were still considered you a friend at Summer. “Of course, Tarquin. I would be honoured to celebrate with you all.”

Tarquin smiled at that, before turning back to Tamlin. “What a jewel you have here in your court Tamlin. You won't take her for granted I hope.” You could sense the warning laced in his tone. 

Tamlin lowered his eyes slightly, a small gesture, but in the language of High Lords it spoke volumes. Understanding, submission, guilt even. “I wouldn’t dare of it,” he spoke, hands still clasped behind his back.

Tarquin seemed reassured at that. “I must journey back. A delight to see you Y/N, do take care, and come visit whenever you find suitable.”

You agreed to that, watching Tarquin shake Tamlins hand before leaving the Manor. 

“I apologise for making you wait,” Tamlin said with a soft smile. He seemed stiff still, and you wondered if he nervous to host you.

You eyed the High Lord up and down. “Not at all. I’m just… a little surprised to have our meetings overlap.”

Tamlin nodded with understanding. “I have nothing to hide Y/N. It is a lesson I should have learned long ago.”

You nodded at that, looping your arm through Tamlin’s outstretched one as he lead you through to on a tour of the Manor. 

————

The meal with Tamlin was far more enjoyable that you had thought it would be, food and company alike. He did not lead you to a dining room, instead, a small table was set in the balcony overlooking the estate, the warm spring breeze gentle as the sun set over the groomed gardens, rows of trees and flowering bushes tinged with orange from the sunset.

The conversation was awkward at first, Tamlin was nervous, and it didn't help that you headed every comment with caution. But after a few sips of wine, and a few jokes exchanged, it seemed you and the High Lord had much in common. 

You felt yourself relaxing, joking and laughing with ease. It was nice to chat and enjoy the company of another, something you hadn’t done since Azriel killed Alvar. You hadn't realised that in throwing yourself in work, you had deprived yourself from any true fun. Perhaps Tamlin had seen that, perhaps that’s why he invited you here.

He hadn't asked or pried of your past, only talking of your work with immense gratitude. And when you told him of your childhood memories in his court, Tamlin beamed with pride, his face fixed with a smile and his posture a little more straight. That of course, lead to the conversation of Meryl. 

“And what of your sister?” Tamlin asked. “Where does she reside now?”

“Ah,” you said, before drawing a long sip of wine, taking a moment before you could will yourself to respond. “Unfortunately Meryl was murdered by one of Hybern’s own spies.”

Pain sliced across Tamlin’s face, his green eyes panicked before he bowed his head in shame. “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” Blond strands fell in front of his face, his strong hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

“Tamlin, it’s alright. It was many years ago, well before the war.” 

He looked at you then, his face softening. He knew what you were saying – it was before he allied himself with Hybern. He was not to blame.

“I was a fool to have ever opened my borders to him,” Tamlin said thickly, casting his eyes down. 

“I could not agree more,” you replied, before offering him a tight smile. You were certain he regretted many of his choices, but it was reassuring to hear.

“Was your sister’s death how you found yourself as a Night Court emissary?”

You nodded. “That’s right. I was motivated to protect others, and largely driven to avenge Meryl.” Speaking of your past after all that had happened, it seemed to foreign to you now. You no longer knew the girl you were when you had found a home in Velaris.

“It would seem that is still very true,” Tamlin complimented. 

“In some ways, yes,” you agreed, unsure if he caught the blush on your cheeks. “But also untrue in others.”

Tamlin waited patiently, but didn't push. The choice was yours to continue. 

So you told him of your time at the Night Court, of the decade you had spent training with Cassian and Azriel. You spoke of the extent of your training, and how after a few years friendship had turned to love, and the family had welcomed you with open arms. 

Dancing around the details of the Night Court, you were careful not to expose Velaris or other sensitive information – you were not here to damn the court, you were only telling your story.

And as you spoke, Tamlin listened intently without casting judgement, just patiently absorbing your story, nodding where he understood and asking questions where he didn’t. He never pried, nor did he ask for more detail of the Night Court, or of Feyre and Rhys. 

Finally, you explained what lead to you leaving your old life behind, how you were betrayed by your loves and wider family, and how your one true shot to avenge your sister was stolen from you.

As you finished, you drew a big breath, and an even bigger sip of wine. You slouched further into your seat, relaxing as you felt free from the weight of bottling your truth for so long.

Tamlin watched you for a moment, before drawing a long breath. “Would you like to know what I think?”

You raised your brows, toying with your glass of wine. “Do tell.”

“I feel you were treated with an utter lack of empathy, and it was cruel to not at least tell you of the mission. I’m sorry that you were hurt in such a way. They are fools to have mistreated you so greatly, and I know this because… not only am I fully capable of such behaviour, but it is so similar to how I had treated Feyre.”

Your eyes went wide at his confession, your brows clenching at the way it made your heart ache.

“I know what it is to love another so fiercely, you stop seeing them as someone, and start seeing them as something. It was a lesson I learned only when I lost everything – my love, my council, my entire damn court. I was vengeful, jealous, and I would have torn the world in half to claim what I thought belonged to me. But I had no one to blame but myself, and I’ve learnt nothing is mine to ever own or control, no matter how much that scares me. In all truths Y/N, I am sickened that so many were hurt and lost for me to learn that lesson, and I’m so sorry that you were hurt for Azriel and Cassian to learn theirs.”

You blinked at Tamlin, swallowing your shock. “That is… a very honest confession.”

Tamlin gave you a tight smile before shrugging. “Honesty is all I have.”

You returned his smile, extended a hand to rest on his forearm. “If you ask me, honesty and trust are the only true currency of this life.”

Tamlin raised his brows then, whether he was shocked by your words or by your touch you couldn't tell. His green eyes met yours, sincerity swarming as he held you in a soft gaze. “Fae like you have known that all along though. And it is males like me who hurt those infinitely wiser, like you.”

You chuckled then. “I’m not perfect Tamlin, far from it. I think all we can do is try to be better, and work to ensure we don't hurt those that we love through our imperfections.”

Tamlin’s eyes warmed. “I think you’re right,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. 

And maybe it was the wine, or the way your heart swelled at the honestly and sincerity of his confession, but all of the fibres of your being begged you to lean a little closer, to bask in his warmth and comfort, and even press your lips to his. 

With a flick of his eyes to your lips, you knew Tamlin felt the same draw to you. He placed a large hand over your own that rested on his forearm. “Y/N, you must know I didn't invite you here to… disrupt, or interfere with–"

“I know,” you interrupted him, smiling softly.

Tamlin paused, eyes darting between yours. “Your company has been a delightful surprise. But I would hate for you to regret–"

“My life in the Night Court is behind me Tamlin. I have built a life of my own, and this is the path I choose.”

Tamlin moved then, a large hand coming to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and he gave you a pained look, as if physically trying to restrain himself. “I don't mean to lecture the more wise,” he said softly. “But if you feel that I can change or grow or learn from my mistakes, don’t you believe Azriel and Cassian can too?”

Your eyes fluttered close, your brow pulling at the weight of his question. “I suppose.” 

“And if they have changed, or at least try to, do you think that you might want to forgive them?”

You opened your eyes, holding Tamlin’s gaze with a serious expression. “Forgiveness is one thing. But I will never return to the life I had with them Tamlin, not like that. Too much has happened.” 

“Hmm,” Tamlin hummed thoughtfully. He waited a moment, green eyes drinking in your face, scanning your features delicately as you blushed, closing your eyes again to bare the intensity.

When Tamlin spoke again, his tone was a lot more assured. “I can see you have are still in the thick of processing what has happened, Y/N. And for that reason alone, it would be improper to kiss you right now, despite how much I want to.”

You were frowning as you opened your eyes, finding a sorry smile planted on Tamlin’s face. 

“You’re a cruel High Lord,” you joked flatly, returning the pained smile and holding the hand he kept to your face. 

“I’ll work on that,” he chuckled, pulling both your hands in his before kissing them. 

“Come,” he said, standing from his chair and offering you his hand. “I’m yet to show you the gardens.”

————

“Coming!” Amrin barked at the third rapping on her door, the knocks growing more impatient. Slinking into a silver silk robe, she opened the door to reveal Cassian and Azriel, their cheeks more hollow and bags even darker than the last time she had seen them a few weeks ago. 

“Gods, you both look awful,” she said plainly before walking further into her apartment, not checking to see if they followed. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Azriel grumbled. 

“Working from home, if you will.”

“Why?” Cassian asked defensively. 

“You know the answer, brutes. All of that fighting and tension, it gives me a headache.”

Azriel scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, shadows stretching across Amren’s apartment with familiarity. 

“You’re sensitive at the best of times,” Cassian bit back.

“Why are you here?” Amren spoke plainly, sounding bored by their presence. 

Cassian approached Amren while Azriel lingered back. “Help us,” Cassian said. 

Amren scoffed. “You know I can’t, boy.”

Cassian’s brows clenched before he moved to his knees, squatting in front of Amren as she lounged in a chair. “Please, Amren, do you have anything? Information from an outside court, or a lead on her whereabouts?”

Amren levelled her silver eyes with his brown ones. “Why do you torture yourself with such questions? Y/N is quite capable of taking care of herself, you know.”

“C’mon Cass, let’s just go,” Azriel said tightly from behind. From the tension in the room, it was hard to remember they were serving the same throne.

“You want my advice? The both of you need to be patient. If it takes her an eternity to forgive you, then so be it. There is nothing you can do to force that.”

“We can't just switch it off Amren, it doesn't work like that.”

“The Illyrian possessiveness, or the hopelessly in love part?” Amren mocked. “Y/N is mending herself, and I applaud that. I suggest you take a page from her book and start to do the same.”

Azriel had already stalked for the door when Amren started to mock, but she called him a few paces shy. “Whatever you took, I suggest you leave it behind,” she said, her tone almost playful. 

Azriel froze, before letting go of a gold piece of card, the paper fluttering to the floor as he and Cassian stalked out, slamming the door behind them. 

“What was that?” Cassian asked with a whisper. 

Azriel hushed him, nodding as he walked forward, waiting until they had made it a few streets from Amren’s home. 

“A wedding invitation. For Creseida.”

Cassian’s eyes light up. “Do you think–?”

“Perhaps, but I don't think we’d be welcomed company if Y/N does attend. Rhys and Feyre will surely keep us here.”

“So we keep our walls up. We won’t disclose to know of the wedding, and that way the bargain will never be broken.”

Azriel nodded. “The only risk is Amren, should she mention that I saw the invitation.”

Cassian sighed, running his hand through his long hair. “I sure as hell hope she can keep her mouth shut.”

--------

AN: Omgosh, you guys have been so so patient with this part, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I sincerely hope you liked it, it was so much fun to introduce Tamlin and explore the way he might be healing after the war. Not to mention writing a few wins for our reader?? She deserves it.

“Hey!” She greets merrily as she hurries to catch up with you. “How are you?”

“Fine.” You shrug. “You?”

Lily’s footsteps falter, having not expected you to ask about her in return, but she’s quick to regain her composure.

“Oh, I’m great!”

You nod your head but don’t say anything. You walk in silence for another moment before you sigh.

Might as well get this over with, you think to yourself.

“Hey. So um, sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you this whole time.”

“Wha- I- You have nothing to apologize for!” Lily stammers. “I can’t imagine how hard this whole thing must have been for you.”

“Still.” You shrug. “Doesn’t make how I treated you okay. You were just trying to help and I-“

“You were coping with it the best you could.” Lily interrupts. “It’s okay, really. I probably would’ve done the same thing if I were you. We’re good.”

“Thanks.” You smile at her as you both make your way down the stairs.

“So how are you, really?” She asks softly.

“Tired.” You tell her honestly. “I’m tired all the time. All the sleep in the world doesn’t help.”

“And the guy-“

“Can we please not talk about it?” You ask, avoiding her gaze.

“I-I’m not gonna ask who it is. It isn’t any of my business.” Lily assures you. “I just- What if he isn’t worth it?”

James stands from his seat on the couch the moment you both step into the common room. He immediately comes to a stop in front of you, paying no mind at all to Lily.

“Hey.” He greets. “How are you? Everything okay? It took you a while to come down…”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You assure him, before gesturing to the red haired girl standing beside you. “I found Lily in the hallway so that slowed us down a bit.”

James finally turns his gaze to Lily, but to your surprise, he only nods his head at her in greeting before turning back to you.

“Are you hungry? Do you wanna go to breakfast?” He asks. When you nod, he reaches forward and grabs your backpack from your shoulder.

“James, I can carry-“

“No, no.” James cuts you off. “I got it, darling.”

“Thank you, Jamie.” You smile gratefully at him before slipping out the door.

James feels his heart stutter in his chest when you smile so radiantly at him. He doesn’t even realize he was frozen in place until Lily nudges his shoulder.

“Do you plan on following?” Lily asks teasingly.

“Huh?” James looks around and his eyes widen when he sees that you’re gone. “Oh shit!” he curses, causing Lily to laugh before he takes off running after you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Ever since that day by the Black Lake, your friends have become much more protective of you. You can’t even sneeze without four tissues instantly being thrust in front of you. They’re always there, walking you to class, carrying your books for you, asking you how you’re doing.

While you appreciate their concern, you can’t help but feel guilty. This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen. This is your last year. It’s supposed to be filled with mischief and laughter; and instead here they are, constantly worrying about you.

Even though the marauders, and everyone else, know about your hanahaki now, you still do your best to keep it hidden, excusing yourself whenever you feel a fit coming on. Not because you’re trying to keep it a secret, but because you don’t want to put anyone in an uncomfortable situation. After all, how many people really know what to do when someone starts coughing up flowers?

It was very sudden, the hanahaki fit. You didn’t even sense it coming. One second you were sitting around the common room, laughing with Sirius and Peter, the next you were on the ground, body shaking as daffodils and blood poured out of your mouth. Sirius’ can of soda fell over, spilling all over the table and Peter dropped his box of Bertie Bott’s beans from how fast he stood up.

“Oh my god. What do we do?” Peter asks, hands anxiously digging into his hair.

“I don’t- I don’t know!” Sirius cries. “Accio marauders map!”

The map appears in his hand and Sirius hands it to Peter before turning him around and pushing him towards the door.

“Find Moony!” He orders.

“But what about-“

“Peter, hurry!” Sirius shouts. “Go!”

Peter stumbles over his feet before running out the door. Sirius’ eyes fill with tears as he sees you curled up on the floor, body shaking, heaving, trying and failing to get a breath in. Gingerly, so as not to hurt you, he pulls you into his chest, away from the pile of flowers and blood sitting in front of you.

“You’re okay.” He assures you, wiping the tears from his eyes. “You’re gonna be okay. Moony’s coming. Just hold on, okay?”

Remus bursts into the common room with Peter right behind him and his heart drops when he takes in the scene. Sirius is rocking you back and forth, his eyes absolutely bloodshot. The aftermath of your hanahaki fit is still sitting in a puddle on the carpet, Sirius having not thought to evanesco it away. Worst of all though, is that you’re shaking tremendously.

“What happened?” Remus asks as he approaches you both.

“I don’t- I don’t know!” Sirius stutters, shaking his head. “She was fine! She was- she was fine and then she just started throwing up and- I- we didn’t know what to do!”

Remus pushes your hair out of your face and curses when he feels how hot it is.

“She’s burning up.” He murmurs, mostly to himself.

“What?” Sirius asks, having not heard him.

“She has a fever.” Remus repeats louder.

“What do we do?” Peter asks, looking from Remus to Sirius. “Should we get Madam Pomfrey?”

“No.” Remus shakes his head.

“Should we get James?”

“No.” He stresses. “Go to the kitchens, get some chamomile tea with honey. Padfoot, get one of my jumpers and bring it up to her dorm.”

Both boys take off to complete their tasks and Remus scoops you up, carrying you all the way up to your dorm. He walks into the bathroom and turns on the cold water before stepping in and sitting down with you still cradled in his arms.

After a few minutes, you finally start stirring, and Remus releases the breath he had been holding. You lift your head up and try to push Remus away, only for him to grab your hand and set it back down. Struggling to keep your eyes open, you try to push yourself off of him again.

“Go away.” You mumble. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t care.” Remus shakes his head. By now you’re both absolutely soaked. His jumper is sopping wet and weighing him down, and he keeps having to push his hair back from his face to be able to even see you. “We have to bring your temperature down.”

“Moony, just leave.” You beg. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, love.” He says softly.

“Why?!” You shout in frustration. “It’s only gonna get worse! I’m gonna get worse! Why would you stay?!”

Because some days I think I fancy you but other days it feels like more, Remus thinks to himself. Because you’re lovely. Because you saw the very worst part of me, and didn’t run away. Because you’re beautiful and kind, and deserve good things and I wanna be the one to give them to you.

“Because we’re friends.” Remus tells you, wiping the blood from your mouth with a smile. “That’s what friends do. They stick by each other. Through thick and thin. So you can push me away as much as you’d like, I’m not leaving you.”

You look at Remus, who’s sitting with you, fully clothed in the shower, just to bring your temperature down and the only thought running through your head is Uh oh, I’m falling in love.

Your eyes fill with tears but you manage to give Remus a grateful smile before burying your face into his chest.

“Please don’t leave me.” You whisper.

You don’t know if he heard you, with how low you spoke and how loud the running water is. Regardless, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to him as the cold water washes over you both.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Y/N.” Peter whines. “Come on! They’re serving pumpkin pancakes today.”

You roll over in bed and bring the blanket higher up, stopping just under your chin.

“I’m not hungry.” You mumble.

“You don’t have to eat!” Sirius offers. “You could just have a hot chocolate if you want.”

“Yeah!” James chimes in, trying to tug the blanket off of you. “Just come down and sit with us. Please?”

“Don’t want to.” You mumble, back still turned on your friends.

“Why not?” Sirius asks softly, frowning when he hears you sniffle. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?”

“Because! It’s such a nice day out.” You cry. “It’s sunny but not too hot and it’s windy and there are lots of clouds in the sky. It's a beautiful day and all I want is to take a stroll around the Black Lake but I can’t! Because I’m too fucking weak! I can’t even stand up without getting dizzy and I just- It’s not fair! I can’t do anything anymore!”

The boys look at each other at a complete loss for words. It’s moments like these where their hearts break all over again for you. Not only are you physically sick, not only did you have to drop your elective classes and give up on your apprenticeship; but now you can’t do something as simple as taking a walk outside.

“So, no! I don’t want to eat pumpkin pancakes and I don’t want to drink hot chocolate! I want to be alone! Please!”

Remus nods his head and gestures for everyone to make their way to the door.

“Why don’t you just get some rest, love. We’ll…we’ll check in on you later.” He says softly before they all leave your dorm room.

Once you hear your door close, you close your eyes, hoping you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You don’t know exactly how much time has passed when you’re shaken awake by Remus.

“Y/N.” He calls softly. “Time to wake up, love.”

“Go away,” You groan, rolling over in bed.

“I have a surprise for you.”

You immediately open your eyes and look at him questioningly.

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling.” Remus smiles causing you to huff. “If you wanna see it you have to come downstairs.”

“Moony, no.” You whine. “I really just-“

“It’ll be quick.” Remus cuts you off. “Just one minute and if you don’t like it, you can come back to bed.”

“Fine.” You sigh, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. “Let me just get changed.”

You’re wearing one of Remus’ jumpers, and have no plans of taking it off. Instead, you change out of your sleep shorts and put on a pair of corduroy trousers before slipping on your sneakers.

“Ready?” Remus asks after you hastily brush out your hair.

“As I’ll ever be.” You sigh, tossing your comb onto the bed.

Remus grabs your hand and you smile at the small act of affection before turning your gaze to the ground. Remus leads you out to the courtyard, stopping in front of a bicycle of all things. It’s black, with white wheels, and a metal rack over the back wheel.

“Ta-da!” He announces proudly. “I got it from Hagrid. It’s a bicycle!”

“I…can see that…” You stutter in confusion. “Why- why is it here?”

“You said you wanted to take a stroll around the Black Lake, right?”

“Yeah?”

“So hop on!” He says, taking a seat on the bike.

“You’re being serious?” You ask with an excited smile. There’s no way Remus is actually gonna pedal you around the lake, right?

Remus simply pats the seat behind him.

“Your chariot awaits.”

Remus turns back around and starts messing with handles, laughing to himself when the bell attached actually rings. You watch him with a soft smile, all the while thinking to yourself Oh no, I’m falling in love again.

“Y/N!” Remus calls, pulling you out of your thinking.

“Huh?”

“Are you coming or not?” He asks with a chuckle.

“Yeah!” You nod, taking a seat on the metal rack and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Hold on tight!” He calls over his shoulder at you before he starts pedaling.

Remus rides around the Black Lake several times, with you laughing and smiling the whole time. This was all you wanted; to take a stroll around the lake, to feel the sun on your skin and the wind through your hair, and somehow, Remus found a way to make it happen.

“Can we go around once more?” You beg when he comes to a stop. “Please??”

“Anything for you, love.” He nods, taking off once more around the lake.

James walks out of the great hall with a plate of food, wanting to drop it off for you, only to hear your laughter from across the courtyard. He turns his head and sees you and Remus riding around on a bicycle. Remus takes a sharp turn that causes you to shriek before you throw your head back in laughter.

James takes a deep breath before tensely nodding his head. He turns around and starts heading towards the Gryffindor tower, throwing your plate of food into a trash bin as he passes by.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Bad luck that the roof of the Shrieking Shack caved in.” Sirius comments as the boys walk further into the Forbidden Forest.

“Yeah.” Remus sighs. “Stupid storm came out of nowhere.”

“It’s okay.” Peter says, “Dumbledore said it’ll be fixed by next week.”

“We don’t need it fixed next week.” James reminds him. “The full moon is tonight.”

“Think of it this way, guys,” Sirius calls. “When was the last time we got to run around the Forest in our animagus forms?”

Remus, Peter, and James all nod their heads in agreement. He’s right. At least they won’t be confined to a small room tonight, they’ll be able to run around all over the forest.

“Is Y/N sitting this one out too?” Peter asks.

“Yeah” Remus nods. “She’ll probably be cross with me, but it’s for the best. She’s had a hard week, she needs to be resting.”

The boys all voice their agreement, only to stop when they hear the distinct sound of leaves crunching.

“Do you hear that?” James asks with a frown.

“Someone’s coming.” Sirius says.

The marauders hold their breath as the sound of footsteps gets closer, only for you to step out of the clearing. You come to a stop when you see your four friends, only to run towards them, towards Remus with a beaming smile.

Remus automatically steps away from the group and starts heading in your direction, meeting you halfway as if there’s some sort of a gravitational pull, as if his body knows it belongs in your orbit, his comet.

“Surprise!” You shout, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You shouldn’t have!” Remus scolds, hugging you back before pulling away, keeping you at arms length as he looks at you.

“And let you guys have all the fun? I don’t think so.”

“You should be-“

“With you.” You interrupt.

“Resting.” Remus corrects. “You should be resting.”

“I’ll rest tomorrow.” You assure him. “You need me tonight.”

Remus feels as if his heart could burst with the amount of love that he feels for you in that moment.

“Thank you, love.” He whispers softly, words only meant to be heard amongst the two of you.

“Anything for my Moony.” You whisper back with a smile.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Remus wakes up the following morning in the hospital wing, like always. He looks to his left, like always, and feels immediate disappointment when he doesn’t see you there.

“Do hide your enthusiasm.” Sirius teases with a smirk.

“No.” Remus shakes his head, groaning as he sits up. “Of course I’m happy that you’re here.”

“Right.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry. Your girl will be back soon. She’s just getting her bandages changed.”

Remus can’t even enjoy having you be referred to as his girl because all he can think about is the fact that you’re injured.

“Bandages?” Remus asks, looking at Sirius with a frown.

Sirius looks at Remus with wide eyes.

“Bandages? Did I say bandages? I meant-“ He hears the door open and close and sighs in relief.

“Oh, thank godric.” He exclaims, standing up and disappearing behind the curtain. “He’s all yours. Good luck.” Sirius whispers as he passes you by.

You walk in with a smile though Remus frowns the moment he sees you. You have a bandage going across your left shoulder, blood already seeping through even though you’ve just gotten it changed.

“Oh no.” Remus groans.

“Hey-“

“Oh, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Moony, stop.”

“I did that.” He cries. “I hurt you.”

“No.” You shake your head. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” Remus insists, eyes filling with tears as he continues to look at the bandage. “I hurt you. I promised myself I wouldn’t and I-“

“Moony, I’m fine.” You insist. But he refuses to listen.

“Oh, my god. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Remus, stop!” You shout, finally getting his attention. “It was my own fault, okay? I got too close.”

“Don’t.” Remus says grimly. “Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for this.”

“I’m not blaming anyone.” You shake your head. “You shouldn’t either.”

“But I-“

“I knew the risk.” You cut him off. “I always know the risks of going out there. It doesn’t matter, Moony.”

“It doesn’t matter?” He repeats incredulously. “How could you say that? I’ve maimed you. I’ve ruined your beautiful, soft skin with a horrid scar.”

“Horrid? I don’t think it’s too bad.” You frown, looking at your shoulder. “I quite like it.”

“You like it?” Remus repeats with a shocked laugh.

“Yeah.” You nod with a smile. “I think it makes me look tough.”

You flex your arms and tell him to feel your muscles, muscles that you both know aren’t there. Remus rolls his eyes in amusement at your teasing.

“Will it look like your scars?” You ask curiously. “Once it’s healed, I mean…”

“Yeah.” Remus nods sadly. “Werewolf scars are permanent. Sorry, love.”

“Mm.” You shrug carelessly. “Wouldn’t be my first.” You comment, lifting up your pant leg to show him the scar you got last summer when you and your cousins wanted to jump a fence instead of going all the way around.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure I could pull this off.” You continue to tease. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re beautiful.” Remus says honestly, struggling to stay awake. “And no amount of scars could ever change that.”

“Thanks, Moony.” You say with an embarrassed laugh, not at all used to being complimented so bluntly. “I think you’re quite beautiful, too.”

When Remus doesn’t say anything, you look up at him and find him snoring softly.

“Good night, Moony.” You whisper, standing up. “I’ll stop by later.”

You walk into your dorm, determined to take a nap and get some rest yourself. You throw yourself onto your bed, but groan in annoyance when you hear something fall off of it. Sitting up with a huff, you look around and find Remus’ book on the floor.

“Shoot.” You curse, when you see that the book landed open but faced down. You place your index finger in the middle so as to not lose what page he was on and then pick the book up. You groan again, when this time, a piece of paper floats down to the floor.

“Fuck!”

You quickly lean down and pick up the paper. You’re about to shove it into his book and be done with it when the writing on the bottom catches your attention.

My Comet ★━━─

You look up, mind absolutely racing. Comet? Like the girl he told you about? The girl he has feelings for?

You scan the piece of paper in your hand, taking in the white rectangle shape with a black square. It looks…like the back of a polaroid. Which means that if you turn it around, you’ll see who this girl is.

But should you? It would be an invasion of privacy, wouldn’t it? I mean, Remus had it tucked away in his book for a reason. Then again, he left the book in your room. So he must trust you with it, with all of it, right? Including this polaroid?

You go back and forth for a few minutes, weighing out the pros and cons before finally deciding that you’ll look. Just a quick little peek. Just to fill your curiosity. Afterwards, you’ll put it back and you’ll never speak a word about it.

Releasing a shaky breath, you slowly turn the polaroid over; and when you do, your eyes widen in shock. The polaroid is a picture of you and Remus from your birthday party last year. You’re posing in front of the cake with an overjoyed smile, and Remus has his arms wrapped around you, hugging you from behind. On the bottom are the words Y/N’s 17th birthday. ‘76

You stare at the polaroid for a long time before finally putting it back in his book and sitting down on your bed, at a complete loss for words.

Azriel had thought you to come home late this night. You were supposed to meet up with a friend after work - and you two catching up usually took ages. What he didn't know, was that your friend had gotten an emergency call from her neighboor and had to leave barely an hour into the hang out. You had enjoyed the rest of your dinner alone, happy to have brought a book with you. The walk home had been relaxing and cleared the pleasant haze of wine from your head.

Even if it hadn't, you sure would have sobered up by what you found upon returning home. First you had thought that Azriel had invited someone of the inner circle over. Unusual, as he liked to keep his home free of his rather loud family, but not unheard of. Then the scent of baked goods and your mates frustration registered in your nose and you frowned.

Stepping toward your living room, you identified Elains sobbing. She sounded earnestly upset. You and Elain had gotten along well so far, appreciating each other as support, cooking and baking together. You were just about to enter and try to comfort your friend when Azriel spoke and shattered your heart.

"It was a mistake, Elain. We can't do this to y/n. You're her friend for mothers sake!"

"Why did you kiss me then? Why did you tell me you loved me - And don't tell me it was the alcohol! I've seen you drink more than that!"

"I'm sorry ok? I was-" Azriel interrupted himself and sighed aggravated. "You should leave. Forget what happened, because it won't happen again."

"You can't just pretent nothing happend! If- If we talk to y/n-"

"She can never know what happend, you hear me Elain?" by the sound of it, your mate had stood up from a chair so quick it had toppled over. "Swear to me, you won't tell her!"

"Why? We have feeling for each other Azriel. You can't deny it for the rest of your life. It wouldn't be fair to her not to tell her." Elain sounded wounded, but there was a persuasive edge to her voice.

"She is my mate. I can't throw that away." Azriels quiet voice twisted the knife in your heart.

"If she is your mate, she will understand. She will want you, us, to be happy."

You finally muster up the courage to fully step into the living room. Elain stood close to Azriel, a hand on his cheek, thumb soothing away his tears. He was facing you, although his eyes were clenched shut as if he were trying to protect himself from temptation. A hopeless endeavor as Elain pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. He whimpered. He actually whimpered and the conflicted emotion radiating from the bond made you sick. There was infinite guilt, but it was quickly overpowered by a rush of affection and then arousal as Elain placed a more passionate kiss to his lips.

You finally snapped out of your disbelieve. Betrayal slamming into you, you heard Azriel gasp. One of his hands flew to his chest as his eyes tore open in response to your hurt emanating from the bond. His gaze found you immediatly and he stepped back from Elain as if burned.

Turning on your heel, you made your escape. All you had to do was get out of the house and then a few steps to be able to winnow away. But before you can even reach the frontdoor, he darts in front of you, frantically grabbing your shoulders and searching your gaze.

"Wait! Wait, let me explain. Elain was just leaving- We- I-"

"Go back to the woman you love." Azriel blinked at the tone of your voice. Dull and void of the emotions he could feel echoing in his heart. He felt you like splintering glass under his skin. And he did that to you, the one person he was supposed to never hurt. To keep save. He was supposed to kill the people that made you feel like this. And yet he couldn't let you go. He had always been selfish. Trying to reign in his desperation he swallowed harshly.

"I don't love her, I love you! It was a mistake, I promise you y/n. It won't happen again I swear!" As he said it and you wished it to be true, you felt the skin of your wrist split and re-stich. Crying out in surprise and pain you stumble back, staring at the mark of a bargain struck. Finally your tears spilled over. You had been mentally resigned to forever feel your mates affection for another, had been in the precess of walking out of his life. And now? Now he had accidentally sworn himself to stay away from Elain in the futile hope of making you stay.

He seemed to have realized the same, sinking to his knees wide eyed. "No no, no no no no no- I didn't mean-" He's looking back and forth between you and Elain, pleading with both of you. Your friend had started sobbing again, trying to touch your arm and apologizing. You head swam. The tips of your fingers tingled and you were distantly aware of hyperventilating. Finally pulling out of your stupor you push past Azriel, ignoring him begging for you to "stay" and "not leave him alone". The chilly night air barely encompassed you before you winnowed away.